Another Life
by Ardeth Saunders
Summary: A former partner who wants revenge on Donovan and his fiancée exposes his ‘other life’ before taking command of the SOG.
1. The Beginning of the End

TITLE:  "Another Life"  

**AUTHOR****:  Ardeth Saunders [a.k.a, Cruecial 411]**

**RATING****:  R [Language, violence, sexual situations]**

**SUMMARY****:  A former partner who wants revenge on Donovan and his fiancée exposes his 'other life' before taking command of the SOG.**

**GENRE****:  Drama and angst.**

**DISCLAIMER****:  _UC:  Undercover _and its cast of characters belong to the writers, creators, NBC, and a dozen others.  NO infringement intended.  All other original characters belong solely to the sick, twisted, and vivid imagination of the author.**

**A/N****:  This is an alternate UC universe.  This story may stray here and there from the show's original intent with regard to Donovan's past, why he left the CIA, etc.  Readers may find several inconsistencies.  This is simply an experiment in the making.  RnR if you please!**

*  *  *

THE BEGINNING OF THE END Early 1998 

Chase Martel hid in the growing gloom.  The darkness was perfect for him.  After all, he was dressed from head to toe in black clothing.  He brought up a set of night vision goggles and affixed them to his head.  They were ridiculous things, but if one had to do night moves, they were a necessity.  In the distance, he could make out the figure of a woman.  He snarled and spat.  When she first came into the agency, the superiors saw fit to put her in his group.  She was a hotdog, or at least thought she was.  She tried to outdo everyone in his squad and didn't mind to cheat, lie, and steal to get where she wanted to go.  Currently, she was kissing the ass of several other agents and a few of them were the upper brass.  _Ungrateful bitch.  I hate her.  _He hadn't necessarily given her a start, nor had he been partnered with her at any time, but she didn't mind shoving his face in the dirt to get past him.  He sighed and waited patiently to move.  The perpetual ass kisser had secured lead over the operation when she clearly didn't know what she was doing.  He hated relying on someone so far beneath him in experience to bring them around.  Kira Grant.  It was a name he would never forget, a name he would try to drive away for years to come until she decided to haunt him again.  

Kira Grant waited for the all clear before she called out to her fellow agents.  She knew that Martel, Malone, Shelby, and Glenn were on standby.  They were staking out an underground storage shed owned and operated by a group of terrorists.  Of course, Grant had conveniently forgotten to share with her fellow ops what the real deal was.  She wanted to send Martel in first, because he presented the greatest threat to her and her status in the agency.  If he screwed up on purpose, he would face disciplinary action and perhaps expulsion.  She was ready for that and had championed it in fact.  She watched the men milling about.  Sooner or later, she would call the troops in.  Martel's job was easy enough.  He was to storm into the building, take out as many bad guys as possible, and then seize the evidence.  Yet, there was that little thing Grant had forgotten to mention to Martel.  This building was actually the wrong one.  It was owned and operated by the CIA as a dummy set up.  Of course, the other agents knew nothing of this, since only the leads were told the true locations of any seizure of this size and nature.  Grant had ensured that her name was kept off the list.  Lead op for this mission was none other than Chase Martel himself.  None of the paperwork mentioned Kira Grant by name.  If anyone died tonight, it would be the CIA's own agents.  _Kiss my ass, Martel.  Kiss my ass and like it._

Martel and the other agents heard Grant's commands to move out.  Martel was the lead man, just as Grant had planned.  Almost immediately, he was confronted with armed men who hesitated to shoot back.  It didn't stop Martel or the others.  They began plowing down bodies as if they were weeds in a cotton row.  The next command Martel heard in his ear was to set the bombs and then move out.  Although he hated Grant, he did as he was instructed.  Not once did he bother checking out the identities of the men they killed.  It didn't matter.  They were sent in, they did the job, and now it was time to get the hell out.  Martel set the bombs in strategic locations around the building and synchronized the timers.  They had about thirty seconds to get out with their lives.  With a stern shout [_GET OUT_], Martel and the others moved out and had barely gotten under cover before the building blew sky high.  As he watched the flames shoot up and up, Martel grew sicker and sicker.  This was one aspect of the job he hated most of all.  It didn't sit well with him and he wanted out of this.  He had no idea he would get out, but not the way he expected.

That night, Martel returned to camp.  He and a few others were forced to sleep out in tents as if they were desert dwellers.  In any other location in any other part of the country, it might have been nice.  However, out here, there were bugs completely immune to every insecticide in the country.  No matter how much he used, he was covered in itchy welts from head to foot.  The first few weeks had been a nightmare.  But now, it was normal, and he rarely flinched when bitten.  Not necessarily a prolific writer, Martel kept a journal.  Each night, he would write something down in it that expressed whatever was running through his mind.  Tonight, he had written only a few words:  blood, smoke, and fire.  He closed the journal and tossed it over to the gunny sack that held a few articles of his clothing and other possessions.  He leaned back, but couldn't sleep.  The night's work weighed heavily on his chest and mind.  What had they done?  What sense did it make?  It mattered little right now.  There were other nights ahead that would mirror tonight.  He fell into a fitful sleep, broken by dreams of men hesitating to open fire on them.

While Martel lamented over his night's work, Grant sat in her tent reading by weak lantern light.  Whenever she thought of what transpired tonight, she laughed a little.  Martel hadn't even suspected that the facility was CIA based.  What an idiot he was.  She glanced over the paperwork and computer program for the night's work.  She rigged the computer and erased every shred of evidence pointing her way.  She input Martel's name and added the other agents.  Tomorrow morning, one CIA director was going to be very pissed.  She wondered how long it would take to send Martel back home?  Grant leaned back in her own tent and listened to the sounds of a sleeping camp around her.  She wanted to be wide-awake when Martel was handed his walking papers.  It would be a wonderful sight to see.

It wasn't yet dawn when Martel rose.  He normally awoke before the others so he could shower and shave without waiting for an hour.  The camp around him was still silent and he relished the quiet.  He spent a major portion of his life alone, but it never bothered him.  However, he was already sick of this shit and longed to do something else, something not so damn covert in nature.  Shrugging off the disturbing thoughts, Martel continued onward toward the primitive facilities.  He stood under the tepid spray of water from the weak shower and allowed it to cut through the grime from the night before.  He wondered what gruesome activities were planned for this evening.

As soon as Martel returned to camp, others were rising and making their daily sojourns to the facilities.  However, there was activity coming from the main tent, which served as the base operations.  He heard the low voices of Kira Grant and Director Dubois.  He was tempted to step over and eavesdrop.  He didn't trust the bitch.  Since they joined, they had been competing in some form or another.  Martel seemed to outdo Grant in almost every facet of the agency and it pissed her off.  Of course, he didn't give a shit.  He drew great enjoyment from beating her at her own game.  The job wasn't about competition, but Grant never understood that.  She had never wanted to.  Resisting the temptation to listen in, he moved back toward his tent to make ready for the briefings that would last all damn day.  He had barely gotten his pants on when the tent flap flew open.  His eyes beheld the butt ugly jet-black head of Kira Grant.  Her eyes were fixed on him in their usual 'you're a bastard' gaze.

"Martel," she said gruffly, all business, as if she owned the world.  "Dubois wants to see you right now."

"Get the fuck out of my tent," he growled, "and tell him I'll be there in five minutes."

It wasn't a rare occasion for Dubois to call him in for a meeting.  It happened frequently, but something about Grant's gaze irked the shit out of him.  He felt as if he was walking to his own death.  When he approached the base tent, he saw that several people were awaiting him, including the other guys that were with him last night, along with Grant and Dubois.  What the hell was this?  Dubois didn't look very happy to see them, either.  What problem would they have with him now?  They had gone out to the location, taken out all the bad guys, and blew the building sky high.  What else was there?  Did Dubois want to throw them a party?  

"What is this," Martel asked stiffly.

"Agent Martel, I would think that after what you and your colleagues did last night, your tone would be slightly different," Dubois said.  "Agent Grant brought something to our attention this morning.  The facility you stormed and obliterated was a dummy CIA operation.  The men you killed were fellow agents.  Basically, you declared war on our own."

Martel stared at Dubois as if he had lost his mind.  What the hell was he talking about?  He didn't have charge over any damn mission.  It was given to Grant.  She was the one who led them out to the location.  They stormed it upon her request.  _Remember, Martel, they hesitated to draw on you.  Remember how odd you thought that was?  Well, now you know_.  Before he responded to Dubois, he fixed his eyes on Grant's face and stared at her darkly.  She was grinning smugly, trying desperately to hide it.  "Sir, I can assure you that I didn't have charge of the mission.  If you'll look, the responsible party is standing right beside you."

Dubois nodded vaguely.  "Your colleagues have corroborated that story, Agent Martel.  However, the docket and computer do not lie.  Agent Grant's name is nowhere to be found on any of this.  The only name I see as lead operative is Chase Martel.  Care to explain why you're pointing the finger at Grant?  It's obvious who had charge.  I have made contact with the vice-president and we are trying to decide what action to take next.  From the looks of it, all of you will face disciplinary action, and perhaps criminal charges."

Martel knew that Dubois was a stubborn man.  He could make no further arguments.  It was clear whom he believed.  He focused his eyes on Grant again.  Her smile had yet to fade and she was fighting her laughter with everything she had in her.  The worse part, the _scariest_ part, was that Dubois was implying that Martel and the other agents had opened fire on their own men intentionally.  _So much for laying all your trust in the lead op.  Never again, you fucking skank.  _How in the hell could he get out of this?  He would find a way.  Chase Martel was patient and quite persistent.  He didn't stay down for long.  _Have your fun now, Agent Grant.  You have yet to see the last of me_.

Long after Martel and his buddies were gone, Kira Grant slept comfortably in her tent.  Dubois would force the men to meet the vice-president and have a huge complicated hearing.  For now, the man she hated more than life itself was out of her hair.  He had been suspended pending an investigation.  What was it about Martel that pissed her off?  The two of them had been recruited at about the same time and had gone to training together.  Grant was a competitive young lady and she wanted to be the best at everything.  She actually believed she _deserved_ to be the best.  However, it appeared that she would only be second best.  Chase Martel entered the picture, beating her at everything under the sun.  She couldn't best the bastard no matter what task they were facing.  He wasn't smug about it, but Grant had never been a graceful loser.  What else was there?  How else could she beat him?  Her only way, of course, was through cheating and underhandedness.  She cut him whenever she got the chance.  Grant was wily enough and a good liar.  She could convince Jesus that she was a born again Christian while seducing the hell out of Satan at the same time.  Once she and Martel received their first assignments, Grant sabotaged Martel at every juncture.  Most of the time, he rebounded quickly and brought himself back up to his feet.  This time, he wasn't so lucky.  Her latest scheme was the most elaborate and the most satisfying of them all.  Martel would leave and she would receive the glory, working and cheating her way into Dubois' position.  As she thought of her victory, she smiled a little, and was finally lulled to sleep.  

He slipped into camp after all was quiet.  He had been ordered away, but he had one more mission to complete before he left for good.  He found Grant's tent easily enough.  He drew his face into a snarl and listened to her breathing easily.  She had ruined his life and it wasn't fair that she had such peace while he was tormented, not only by what he had to do day by day, but also from the simple fact that she had purposely put him in a situation he could not control.  

Kira Grant awoke when she felt hands encircling her throat.  She had only felt this one time in her life, but would never forget it.  Someone was trying to strangle her.  She opened her eyes and looked up in the face of Chase Martel.  He had returned to kill her.  Actually, he wasn't using enough pressure to kill her.  He was trained well and knew a hundred different ways to kill a man or a woman with his bare hands.  He wanted to put the fear of God into her and transmit as much pain as she had given out.  Grant struggled beneath him, but he outweighed her and had an advantage.  Every few seconds, he increased the pressure, just to scare the piss out of her, and he knew it was working.  He saw it in her eyes.  _I don't want to kill her, I just want to fucking scare her too death.  _Of course, his fun was short-lived.  He snarled again as he was pulled off her a few minutes later.  He didn't care what they did to him.  After all, what did he have to lose now?  

Two days later, Chase Martel sat before Director Dubois.  The director had just spoken to the vice-president who had thoroughly reviewed Martel's records.  Now, Dubois was looking over them again.  Other than the two incidents previous, Martel's record was spotless.  He had been a top recruit, almost damn perfect, but had a few character flaws here and there.  However, there hadn't been anything major until this slip.  Not only had he made a grave mistake, but he'd also attacked a fellow agent.  She was so shaken by the event that she had requested a leave of absence.  What to do with Martel?  Honestly, he didn't want to throw Martel out, but he also didn't just want to slap his wrist and let him go as if he had done nothing.  There was some type of mental break in the making, and Dubois wasn't surprised.  The CIA was an unforgiving agency that had little conscious for its deeds.  The answer came to Dubois almost like the harking of an angel.  Martel wasn't cut out to solely take lives.  He was stoic, but had heart.

Dubois fixed his eyes on Martel.  The young man literally looked like crap.  He hadn't shaved in a few days and there were very dark circles beneath his eyes.  It appeared as if he hadn't slept in several days.  "Agent Martel, how would you feel about a vacation and then a transfer," he asked.

"What do you mean," he asked.

"I'm offering you an alternative to permanent dismissal.  You have had a slight break from reality and I think a few weeks would do you some good.  However, I don't want to see your talents wasted because of a few misguided deeds.  Take a month or two and then I can arrange for a transfer.  You won't see Kira Grant again."

Martel wanted to laugh in his face.  A few days ago, the agency was ready to strap him into the electric chair.  Today, they wanted to give him an extended vacation and then a new job?  None of this made sense.  He was perfectly sane, but often wondered if the world around him was.  "The part where I'd never see Grant again sounds quite attractive.  But what about the rest?  How is that going to work?  Former ops have issues with outside society, Director Dubois.  You know that."

Dubois nodded.  "I understand," he said.  "I can clean up everything for you, every blotch, mark, and streak.  As far as the outside world is concerned, you were never disciplined for any deeds that you've done.  We can also set you up with a different identity and give you your choice of assignments.  When Agent Grant returns, she will be sent another way."

Martel sat back and considered it.  A new life and identity?  It sounded too good to be true.  Perhaps if he released his hold on the CIA, Kira Grant would give up on him and find another victim to terrorize.  Another part of him wanted to throw the deal into Dubois' face.  He had been let down by an agency he respected.  They took the word of a two faced dragon over his.  Then again, why would the director offer such a deal if he wholeheartedly believed Grant?  _Covering your ass, Director Dubois_?  "I don't want to live in D.C.  It's much too close to headquarters and _her_.  If you also agree to relocate me, consider the deal made and agreed upon.  If not, send me on to whatever punishment you have set aside."

"We can do that.  Consider this a redemption, Martel."

_A redemption?  He doesn't have any idea what he's talking about.  I'm not sure who the ass kisser is, you or her.  _Instead of speaking, he nodded.  "Very well."

"I'll move the paperwork immediately."  

*  *  *

She fell back to the bed in a dead pant.  Her partner breathed heavily beside her.  He was her boss and one lousy lover.  However, Kira Grant couldn't get her way if she didn't offer herself to Dubois on a partial basis.  It was one in a dozen ways that she had obtained privileged information and equipment.  These jaunts had given her access to the programs that helped set up Martel.  

"You are one delicious morsel," Dubois said as his hand ran along the inside of her thigh.

She smiled sweetly.  _I'd like to put your dick on a hard press and squash it flat.  Do you think you do anything for me?  _"Not as delicious as you," she sighed.  She turned to her stomach and began to gently caress his flaccid penis.  It didn't take long for it to get perky again.  "I'm so glad you got rid of Martel, baby.  The guy gave me the creeps."

"Hmm," he grunted when she flicked her tongue over the tip of him.  "Yeah, he's gone."

At this, she smiled.  "Good."  Her mouth enveloped him.  When he was at his peak and his erection hard and throbbing, she withdrew.  "What did you do to him?  Where did he go," she asked sweetly.

He groaned in aggravation.  She was a damn tease.  "On vacation," he mumbled.  "Vacation and then on to something else."  He moaned.  "Please Kira…get back to it."

"In a moment, lover," she said.  "He isn't being disciplined?"

"No, but we sent him away."  

He tangled his hand into her hair and brought her head back down.  She had started this and she would finish it, of course, but she was highly displeased.  Long after the disgusting son-of-a-bitch came and passed out beside her, Grant stayed awake for hours.  Wherever he went, she'd find him.  He didn't deserve a break or a new life.  If she couldn't have one, no one could.

**____________________**

**To be continued…**      

     


	2. Old Haunts

OLD HAUNTS

Early 1999

Frank Donovan entered his apartment and noted the time.  Groaning, he hit the bathroom and started the shower.  He had been running nonstop for three days.  A band of anti-government radicals had kidnapped the twin daughters of a state senator.  Donovan and his men worked an endless seventy-two hours until the group finally gave in and released the girls.  It was one of his easier negotiations, but it was still quite stressful and gut wrenching all the same.  Regardless of the case or the people involved, he saw the same thing day after day:  upset families, screaming mothers, enraged fathers, and hotdog FBI agents whom thought they knew everything.  It was tiring, but at least not at an insane level.  It was nothing like the CIA when he was another man, living another life.  He didn't think of his former life often.  Who would?  Not many people could after facing such evil standoffs such as he had experienced.  How long did he stay on 'vacation' after he left?  He wasn't sure, but it was the best time of his life.  He spent it at home within the embrace of his parents and siblings.  He needed nothing else but that.  Once he arrived in the city that would now be his home, he honestly felt like a new man.

The first day home, he met with the FBI upper brass and his former CIA director.  Although he had had extensive training for the CIA, he would be forced to endure it again for the FBI.  If they were arranging some type of cover for him, most of what he knew didn't exactly exist.  His new identity, one that he helped design, would have some experience in K & R, but not enough to simply walk into the job.  Since his given name was Franklin Chase Martel, he chose to leave the Franklin and dropped both Chase and Martel.  He saw the surname 'Donovan' on a moving van downstairs in front of the central office.  It sounded nondescript enough, so he latched onto it.  It was an Irish surname and he was _far_ from being Irish, but it was of little consequence.  He was, after all, trying to establish a new life for himself.  It took approximately two weeks to clean his file and remove evidence of his former identity, but once it was in place, it appeared that F. Chase Martel never existed.  Not long after that, Donovan [he would be hard pressed to think of himself as anything _but _Frank Donovan] settled into his role and swiftly worked his way up the ranks until he was in command.  He had soon forgotten everything from his past and never gave a second thought to the bitch whose name made him nauseous.

Donovan stripped down and stepped under the comforting spray of water.  Three days ago, he thought he would never feel this water beating on his back, working out the stress and tension from his body.  He allowed the water to pound onto the nape of his neck while he caressed it.  He closed his eyes tightly against the wonderful, comforting sensation.  He saw flashes of the twins every few seconds.  They were beautiful little girls, slight in body like their mother, with blue eyes and blonde hair like their father.  The girls may have been all of ten-years-old and so very strong.  He wasn't certain how he would have felt if the radicals hadn't decided to give up and the children died.  However, neither of the children had cried one single tear.  Of course, not all negotiations went smoothly.  He had had losses.  It was infrequent, but it happened.  The ones who died haunted him at night, as much as some of the deeds he had done for the CIA.  _Don't think about that now.  You've left that behind you.  Move on Donovan.  Move on and forget it._  He reached over and grabbed a bar of soap.  If he didn't do something now, the hot water would run out, and then he'd be stuck in a space no larger than a tomb.  He had no desire to be inside a tomb, not now, tonight, or ever.

He had barely gotten halfway through his shower when he heard the door opening.  He smiled a little when he noticed Taryn entering behind him.  There was barely enough room for one of them, much less two, but he would work with her.  As soon as she fit her body inside, her lips delicately caressed the Chinese characters tattooed on his left shoulder blade.  She had once asked him what it meant, and when he refused to tell her [why did he care…it was part of his old life], she looked it up on her own.  _Baby, I found it on the Internet.  It means 'courage_, she began, _the state or quality of mind or spirit that enables one to face danger, fear, or vicissitudes with self-possession, confidence, and resolution; bravery.'_  _It describes you, perfectly, don't you think?_  If she only knew…  Donovan felt uncomfortable lying to his new wife, but he hadn't told her anything about his true identity.  For God's sake, he couldn't invite his own family to the wedding.

He'd met Taryn Littleton when he first came to Chicago.  Ironically enough, she was an employee at the airport and he had literally run into her, knocking her armload of papers right out of her hand.  The first thing she did was call him a 'clumsy asshole,' and he found himself laughing about that.  His laughter brought on hers.  Immediately after that, he offered to buy her dinner as a way of making up for his clumsiness.  He had no way of knowing that the dinner date would spark into a full-blown relationship, but he wasn't blind.  Taryn was beautiful.  Her hair was barely shoulder length and dark brown with light auburn highlights.  Her eyes were the same dark shade as his.  Her oval face held wide set eyes, a cute button nose, and full lips.  Taryn wasn't very tall, only around five feet five or six, but she was far from delicate.  She was determined and stubborn, but not as stubborn as he.  By the end of their dinner date, he was intrigued enough to ask her out again, and stunned when she accepted.  She took one look at his olive complexion, dark eyes, full lips, and she was hooked.  As far as she was concerned, there would be little she could deny him.

It had been difficult maintaining a relationship with both of them having hectic schedules, but somehow, they made it work.  After six months, they were engaged, and then married two months later.  Donovan counted three weeks today.  As she continued kissing the tattoos adorning his shoulder blade, he wondered how she'd snuck in without him knowing.  Of course, she enjoyed surprising him, and he normally wouldn't argue with it.  She had ways of touching him that no one had even tried, and not just in the physical sense.  He didn't want to think about what would become of their marriage if she ever discovered the truth.  He kept telling himself that there was nothing to worry about.  Sighing just a little, he leaned his hands up against the slick tile and allowed her to do what she wanted.  However, there wasn't enough room in the stall to do what she _really_ wanted.  After a few moments, her lips drew away from his wet flesh.  He expected her to move back and leave, but she didn't.  Instead her hands encircled his waist and moved downward.  His sigh turned into a full on groan the moment her hand encircled him.  She had the ability to make him want her with a simple touch, such as a kiss to the shoulder, but this was different.  She had never tried anything like this before and he was turned on as well as fascinated.  Her caress was light and painstakingly slow, and he wanted to urge her on, but he couldn't quite move.  She continued stroking him gently and then increased the tempo of her hand every few minutes.  Before long, he was literally demanding that she stop, but it was one command she would not follow.  As he was just about ready to grab her hand before the game was over, he lowered his head and gave in to his release, gritting his teeth, and grimacing as if he were in great pain or discomfort.  But he wasn't.  It was all good…so good.  [**Thank you _Cosmo_ for your inspiration**]     

With her job done for the moment, she placed a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades and began to back away.  Laughing lightly, she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.  He wasn't sure he could walk just yet, but once he had her in bed, payback was going to be hell.  When he recovered, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.  His wife had just gotten into her flimsy nightgown.  _She thinks she will get away with this_, he thought with a wicked smile.  He grabbed her from behind, eliciting a little scream from her.  She burst into giggles as he moved her body forward toward their bed.  He lifted her slightly and laid her down.  Without giving her a chance to move away or breathe, he pushed her gown up past her waist and immediately began a passionate assault on her body with his mouth and tongue.  Little did he know, but he and his wife were being watched.

The next morning was Sunday and a quiet day for Donovan and Taryn.  He wanted to spend it in bed.  He had had very little contact with his wife for three days and he wanted to go nowhere.  However, Taryn wasn't the type to linger in bed any longer than was absolutely necessary.  He wanted to make love to her, hold her, and tell her he loved her every five minutes, because in his job, he saw what happened to people who didn't express their feelings for each other.  Yet, Taryn Littleton Donovan was quite tenacious.  She had reasoned that tonight they could make love until they passed out, but today, she wanted to get out.  Grudgingly, he climbed out of bed and dressed casually.  He wasn't one to mix his personal life with his job, and hoped he could always separate the two, especially whenever he and Taryn decided to have children.  God forbid if an old enemy would try to harm those he loved.

*  *  *

After poking around with Director Dubois' computer, Kira Grant had finally found Martel.  However, he wasn't quite the same, now was he?  He was going by Frank Donovan and had taken a wife.  She watched them make love last night.  Well, actually, she watched Martel bury his face in her crotch for what seemed like three hours.  Today, she followed the couple down the busy street just outside their apartment building.  Her mission was basically to expose Martel for the liar that he was and then watch as havoc was wreaked.  She wondered if the little wifey knew he was another man with black marks all over his record [some added just recently by her].  She had a few scores to settle with Martel, including the night he tried to kill her.

Taryn and Donovan chose a street side café for lunch and Grant chose a spot across the street from them.  She looked different now and didn't think Martel would recognize her.  She'd been following Mrs. Donovan for a couple of weeks now and would soon make her approach.  She hated shattering the happy couple's life, but it had to be done.

*  *  *

Taryn watched as person after person slid past her.  She looked up when a woman approached with a friendly 'hello.'  She was about the same height as Taryn, but had longer hair, bleached to a blinding yellow blonde.  She was slight in build and had a round, almost Dutch looking face with a wide mouth.  Deep dimples cut into her cheeks, and might have been attractive on another woman, but with her, it created cruel lines in her face, aging her tremendously.  Taryn was surprised at her unexpected friendliness.  It appeared that she knew her in some way, but Taryn had never seen this woman before.  She was about to say something to the woman when she heard a scream from behind her.

*  *  *

Donovan's heart stopped when he heard of the hostage situation at the airport.  His wife, his Taryn, worked there.  A dozen times, his superiors tried to talk him out of going to the airport, but he wouldn't hear of it.  It was his wife and he was damn well going to work it whether they liked it or not.  When he and his team arrived, there were dozens of police cars and medical personnel on standby.

"What do we know," he demanded of a junior FBI agent standing near.

The young agent nearly jumped at the barking quality of Donovan's voice.  They had all learned quickly that he wasn't a man to fuck around with.  "S-sir, from all reports, the hostages are being held at the Skyways terminal."

"Skyways," he said, shocked.  _Dear God!  Taryn!  _"Did you say Skyways," Donovan demanded.  When the agent didn't answer immediately, he grabbed him and shook him.  "_Did you fucking say Skyways_," he roared.  The agent couldn't speak, but he managed to nod his head.  Donovan released him.  He had to keep his wits about him.  Taryn and a hundred others were counting on him.  "Can we evacuate the airport?"

"We're in the process now," the agent said, keeping his eyes on Donovan in case he decided to grab him again.  "We have three confirmed dead, sir."

_Three confirmed dead.  No.  I won't think of it until I know.  _"We have any names of the dead?"  The agent shook his head.  "Get me hooked up immediately."

Grant watched the activity from around her.  There were three of them, all with submachine guns.  They had yet to make demands, but it didn't stop them from taking out three people.  Grant, the consummate CIA agent, was still strapped.  Regardless of what she had traveled to Chicago to do, she couldn't let this shit go down, even if she hated Martel's guts.  How many could she take out by herself?  The idiots had yet to check the passengers for weapons, so if she could hide for a few minutes, perhaps she could get a shot or three in.  She stole a glance at Taryn Donovan and noticed that the bitch was far from scared.  She was Martel's style all right.  While the goons were occupied with the negotiators [Martel no doubt at the helm], she slid behind the reservations desk and checked out her piece and ammo.  Martel's wife eyed her curiously and Grant sighed, showing her identification.  After this was over, she'd continue on with her plans to ruin Martel's life.  She had just enough ammo to put three bullets in each guy.  Perhaps if she could shoot the bastards, she could have something else to add to her glowing record.  

Donovan had just gotten wired up to contact the men inside when he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire.  Panicking now, he was close to running inside.  "What's happening," he demanded of the agents patrolling the other side of the building.  

"There are four shooters, sir," a voice piped in his ear, "and I'm not sure if the fourth is good or bad."

He growled in frustration.  "Fuck this," he said, "the game is different now.  We have to move in."

As Donovan and the other agents made their way through, they passed several people making their way out.  He barked for the remaining agents outside to take care of the hostages.  When each person passed, he looked for the dark hair of his wife.  A woman began to approach and he sighed in relief.  Thank God.  Taryn had managed to make it out alive.  However, as she drew nearer, he noticed she looked nothing like Taryn.  _No.  Please, God, don't tell me she's dead.  Not my sweet wife.  Not her._  He entered the area closest to the desk, but could see no one matching his wife's description.  He hoped that she had stayed home today.  Silently, he moved around behind the counter and felt his world falling out from under his feet.  His wife was laid out on the maroon carpet, her blood staining it an even darker color.  A woman he did not know was cradling her head in her lap.  She was losing an amazing amount of blood.  Without thinking, he moved the woman back and away from his wife.  If anyone would attend to her, it would be he.  Donovan came down to his knees beside her and his legs splayed uselessly out.  He placed her body gently onto his lap, not wanting to believe this bleeding woman was his wife.  

He touched her face and allowed his hand to drift to her throat where he felt for a pulse.  None.  _This can't be_.  What went through his mind in those few moments before he broke down?  He would remember none of it.  Although he knew she was dead, he held onto the hope that his grief had made him believe the unfathomable.  "Taryn," he whispered.  "Baby?  Speak to me, okay?"  Nothing.  After that tentative call, the reality of the situation began to sneak in slowly and stealthily like a panther descending on his prey.  He brought her lifeless body up against him, his hand cradling the back of her head, his lips against her forehead.  "No," he said.  "_No_."  At that point, the tears came and didn't stop for a long time. 

Two hours later, Donovan had remained at the airport despite several people insisting that he go home.  He wanted to ensure that the murdering fucks were taken care of, even if it meant he'd take them out himself.  It didn't matter that his wife's blood was covering him, it didn't matter that she was dead.  Nothing mattered right at that moment.  For the first time since he stormed the building, he noticed a woman standing amongst a group of FBI agents.  He thought she might have been the one attending Taryn before he took over.  Something about the stance of her body seemed familiar, the way she flung her hands when she spoke.  _Couldn't be.  _He approached the group slowly, listening to the irritating twang of her voice.  He walked up to the woman and took hold of her scrawny arm.  When he turned her to face him, he snarled at her, his eyes raking over her body repeatedly.

"_You_," he growled.  "_You did this_."

She saw the wild look in his eyes and recognized it immediately.  She had seen it that night in her tent.  She had never seen him covered in so much blood before.  "You idiot," she yelled, "I was trying to save her!  She was shot in the crossfire.  I didn't fucking kill your wife!"

Her explanation was not good enough for him.  Before he realized what he was doing, he drew down on her, had actually had the gun nearly poking her in the eye.  One of the fellow agents grabbed him, literally wrestling him to the ground.  The cold tile bit into Donovan's cheek and he saw how smugly Grant was looking upon him.  

"Stop it, Donovan," his friend, Agent Hoke, commanded.  "She actually helped get this situation in hand.  Without her, more people would be dead."

"She killed my wife," he snarled.  "She fucking killed my wife."

Donovan began to struggle against Hoke.  "Fuck!  Does anyone have a set of handcuffs?  Quick!"

*  *  *

Director Kinsey was surprised to see Donovan today.  He had just buried his wife.  In fact, he came into the office still dressed in his black suit.  He had never seen him look so out of focus and lost.  Kinsey wasn't sure what was going to happen.  It was obvious that he needed some serious vacation time and possibly therapy.  Once Hoke had him restrained, he still tried to get at the CIA operative.  What was worse, the op seemed to think his actions were funny.  She had stood back with a smile on her face.  Kinsey couldn't understand why Donovan thought the op had taken out his wife.  It made no sense.  Donovan folded his hands into his lap and stared blankly down at his wedding ring.  For nearly nine months, Taryn had played a major role in his life.  He didn't know what he would do without her.  As it stood, he didn't want to play this game anymore.  

"I'd like to resign," Donovan began.  "I can't do this anymore.  I won't be able to do this job like I did when I started.  It's not the same and I don't feel it in my heart.  It will be too close to the source of my pain."

Kinsey nodded.  "I understand.  You will have to prepare a formal resignation letter…"

Before the man finished his sentence, Donovan slapped an envelope on the desk.  "Done."  He stood and faced Kinsey.  "Keep Agent Grant away from me.  I understand that she wants to assume my position and as far as I'm concerned, she can have it.  I don't want to see her."  With that, he turned and left Kinsey's office.

*  *  *

Four Months Later 

It was colder than hell outside, but Donovan was completely enthralled with the view.  The snow-capped mountains fascinated him and the clean air cleared his mind.  The pain gnawed at his heart every day.  At night, he often dreamed about Taryn, almost seeming to touch her, but she'd drift away before he had the chance.  He'd begun to think he was losing his mind.  It was one reason why he chose to come out to the mountains and lose himself in solitude.  His family hadn't wanted him to push it, thinking him suicidal, but eventually, they relented enough to trust him.  Alcohol was out of the question, anti-depressants weren't practical, and illicit substances only clouded the head more.  What he needed was time.  He met himself, challenged his demons, screamed, yelled, roared, and cried.  He found peace and acceptance.  He couldn't lie and say the grief wasn't fresh or persistent, but he felt normal and human again.  At about the time he had himself held together, he received a phone call and an offer.  

When the satellite phone rang beside him, he was startled to hear it.  Only his family knew where he was and they wouldn't dare phone unless something had happened.  He was shocked and pissed to hear the voice of a former FBI colleague who wanted him to come back into the fold.  

"What the hell do you mean," Donovan said.  "I want nothing to do with the FBI, CIA, or any governmental agency.  I'm finished."

"I realize that, Donovan, but your record is impeccable.  We need someone like you for a special project.  We originally designed three groups.  One is a special ops group with highly trained FBI agents.  Another is a ground force CIA group who works exclusively with the state department.  The third is more along the lines of a patrolling type thing that works with the CIA group.  The special ops group lost its leader recently.  He was killed in action and I'd like for you to assume that position.  However, I'd give you any one of them or something else.  You make the choice."

"I want none of them.  Goodbye."  He hung up and sat back.  What the hell were they thinking asking him to come back?  Yet, if he stayed here with his grief, wouldn't he let Grant win?  Wasn't that what she wanted?  Fuck it.  The phone rang again, startling him, and he picked it up.  "What is it," he demanded.

"Do you want me to beg, Donovan?"

He sighed heavily.  "No, I don't," he said.  "Give me three weeks and I'll see you then with a decision."

**____________________**

**To be continued…**

**A/N:  The interpretation of the Chinese characters came from a website.  I cannot include it within this chapter because FFNET doesn't like it in my formatting.  Anyway, I am NOT stealing it.  It's from a site with Formosa in the URL.  For those interested, email me, and I can give you the link.  Just wanted to clear that up.  NO infringement intended.**


	3. Life Renewed

LIFE RENEWED

Fall 2003

Paige Harrison didn't want to get out of bed.  If she didn't have to go to work today, she'd shut off the alarm clock and snuggle in closer to her fiancé.  He had managed to secure three full days off and decided to sleep in, but he was in no hurry to release his hold on her body.  If the upper brass didn't realize it was his day off, she would call in.  However, if she did that, her boss would immediately know she decided to play hooky with her boyfriend.  They might frown upon that, and she needed her job.  Oh well.  She had to be an adult some time or another.  She snaked her arm from under the covers, and smacked the clock.  Paige groaned incoherently and it quickly changed to a moan when her lover's hand gently cupped her breast while his thumb teased her nipple.  He knew not to do this to her, especially when she would be late for work if he didn't stop.  Of course, she could always reach out and grab his hand.  She didn't want to do that, though.  His touch was something she found herself craving.  Who wouldn't?  He was always good and more than satisfying.  In fact, he'd satisfied her about ten times last night.  She tried to make her escape, but his head ducked under the cover and his lips found her hardened nipple.  Would he not be happy until she agreed to stay home with him?  Her answer came as his lips sought the other nipple that had perked right up before he even touched it.  His tongue drew a line down her ribcage and back up again.  When he brought his lips to hers, he slid his body on top of hers.  He was so very frisky in the morning.  Her hands slipped down his back and settled on his buttocks.  After a moment, she smacked his right cheek and smacked it hard.

"Goddamn it," he groaned.  "You definitely know how to break the mood."  He rolled away from her and propped up on his elbow.  "If you skip today, maybe I can pull some strings for you and keep you out of trouble."

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.  She stretched and yawned, her breasts following the movement of her body fluidly.  "Tempting, but I need to go to work.  If I stay in bed with you today, I'll wind up in the hospital."

Frank Donovan watched as Paige began to move about the room.  She was a beautiful woman [and the same thought entered his mind on a daily basis] with long brown hair and dark eyes.  He'd met her almost three years ago when he returned to Chicago.  She worked in the archive room at the Justice Department.  He recalled that the first thing he noticed about her was the color of her hair.  It was almost like smooth milk chocolate, wavy and full.  Her eyes matched and complimented it.  Her silky skin was dark and radiant.  The first time he met her, she wasn't impressed with him.  He had become intrigued immediately, but she was harder to convince.  She'd said she had no desire to date the men she worked around on a daily basis.  He'd asked her out a dozen or more times before she finally agreed to go.  At the time, he'd just assumed the position as leader of the special ops group for the FBI.  It was the most frustrating job he'd ever had.  His agents were excellent and experts in their fields, but they hadn't really warmed up to him.  They considered him stoic and cold, machine like.  He couldn't honestly deny that.  He was everything they said and more.  Yet, he was sent in to do a job and that was his focus.  The other could come at a later time.  Of course, he'd had more trouble with Agent Shaw than all the rest combined.  Since he'd been in command for a couple of years, his relationship with the team had evened out.  They seemed completely and totally obsessed with his personal life and often tried to coax him out for drinks, but he never relented.  He'd stay behind and complete paperwork and then go home to Paige.  He'd asked her to move in after a year of steady dating and she agreed readily enough.  He hadn't let a woman inside his heart since Taryn, but he wanted to move on, and Paige was his chance.  They had become engaged a few months ago, and were in no hurry to marry.  Both were taking things slowly.  Paige was guarded due to being hurt in the past, and Donovan was still tender from the death of his wife.

Paige had never pushed for information about Taryn.  She was curious, of course, but never asked specific questions.  However, Donovan ended up telling her everything.  It was what he needed at the time and she was there to hear it.  It was that night that they'd made love for the first time.  Up until then, he had remained virtually celibate, focusing on what he needed to do to get back in work mode.  He hadn't intended to get so embroiled with her at first.  After the first night they were together, they each latched on to the other.  He wasn't sure if it was a love or a need thing.  Whichever it was, their relationship was working, and that was okay with him.  It was seemingly okay with her as well.  

Donovan lay back, but kept his arms behind his head so he could continue to watch her put herself together.  He was actually fascinated by this.  He didn't have an opportunity to watch her often.  Solemnly, he watched as she pulled out a suit of pastel blue and then hung it onto a hook on the other side of the closet door.  When she slipped into the bathroom and started the shower, he was tempted to get up and join her.  Yet, he hesitated.  The last time he'd done that, his wife died, and he had an aversion to it now.  It was silly, of course, but it was one hang up he'd never let go.  It was too painful, too close to his heart.  Instead, he remained in bed and listened to her sing in the shower.  Her voice was light and airy, beautiful.  He turned to his side and gazed down at his left hand.  He'd taken off his wedding ring before he took the job, but sometimes he missed it.  He often wondered if he had asked Paige to marry him just for the sake of comfort.  However, he'd never been a man who was that insecure.  He pulled the bed covers up past his shoulders, allowing the steady hiss of the shower to lull him back to sleep.  He thought of his team.  They had made it no secret where they were going.  They'd planned some sort of group trip to Acapulco or the Bahamas or something.  He couldn't remember.  He smiled a little when Jake and Alex approached him, inviting him to come along.  He begged off, stating that he had plans of his own.  He wasn't certain that the team even knew he had a fiancée or even a social life of his own.  As was his standard, he didn't elaborate about his 'plans,' but he hung back in the office an hour or so after everyone left.  It wasn't that he thought he was beyond socializing with the team, but he'd never made it a point to share his private life with his colleagues.  It was his background more than anything.  How vulnerable would his loved ones be if people knew he had a family?  He'd thought this many times before when Taryn was still alive.  But he often thought his close-mouthed approach didn't quite protect Taryn.  She had died anyway.  _I will not think of her.  I will put her back into the depths of my mind.  It is the same place where F. Chase Martel dwells._

Donovan sighed as he settled deeper and deeper into the comforting fog of sleep.  In the background, he heard the shower going off and then the soft thuds and thumps as Paige moved around the bathroom.  A whiff of her perfume entered the room, surrounding him with its bewitching fragrance.  He settled more comfortably against his pillow as she sat on the settee at the end of bed.  In his sleeping mind, he was very tempted to reach out and grab her.  Today wasn't a day he wanted to be alone, but at the moment, he didn't have the energy to sit up.  The smell of her perfume grew stronger as she approached his side of the bed.  He smiled vaguely when he felt her lips pressing against his cheek and as he heard her whispering, 'I love you.'  By that time, he was so embraced in sleep that he couldn't return the sentiment if he tried.  

When Donovan awoke much later, he realized it was after ten.  He reasoned that he must have been completely worn out to sleep that long.  It wasn't like him.  It seemed as if his body worked on a strict military schedule, early to rise, early to bed.  For a long time, he sat on the side of the bed and stared at the opposite wall.  He had gotten a late start to his day and his routine of exercise and running was broken.  He almost went through with it anyway, but didn't quite have the energy.  Every year at about the same time, either Donovan and/or his team were given three days off.  Of course, he wasn't an idiot.  It wasn't a coincidence that he had the days.  It was the same month in which Taryn died.  He'd argued against the time, but his superiors thought it necessary.  It was as if they expected him to go off the deep end at each interval.  After nearly blowing away Kira Grant, they didn't quite trust him.  Honestly, he couldn't blame them, but no one understood the dynamics behind the bitch.  She knew too much about him, knew _everything_, and he wondered how much she had told his other team members when he was still a K & R man.  He also couldn't help but wonder why she chose that particular day to be in the same place as his wife.  _You know, Donovan.  She was there to tell off on you.  She was there to tell your wife that she had married a stranger, and that you had been lying to her all along.  Grant sure as shit wasn't there to book a flight._  Then there was the matter of the hostage situation.  There had been no evidence that the three men were tied to Kira Grant.  Of course, she knew how to cover her tracks, but what bothered him the most about that theory, was the fact that she had been down on the floor with Taryn.  He hadn't recognized her immediately because of the hair change.  She had definitely been seeking all the glory, but had she actually killed his wife?  _Had she_?

When the horror died down, he discovered that Grant was given a special commendation for what she did and for the lives she saved.  He hadn't found out what happened to her after that.  He wasn't actually allowed to know.  After all, he had stuck his Glock in her eye and was a millimeter away from pulling the trigger.  Grant had tried to ruin his life from the beginning of his career and now she was conveniently in the same place where his young wife had died.  He hadn't heard from Grant in a few years and didn't miss her.  He hoped she had given up and gone about another scheme.  Perhaps she had returned to D.C. and was now in the upper ranks of the CIA.  He wanted nothing to do with her.  If given another chance, he'd probably wind up killing her.  The first time had been more along the lines of his scaring her.  The second was much more serious.  If given a third chance, Grant would cease to exist.  Instead of trying to recapture his routine, he padded off to the shower.  Paige had left him just enough hot water.  As it began to pound away on his skin, he was grateful that he was centered and set.  It was probably the first time in his life that he truly felt that way.  He rarely thought of his old life at all.  The only time it crossed his mind was when he contacted his family.  They had no idea he led a somewhat double life.  Most of Martel was gone now; the only evidence that existed [or so he thought] was the tattoo on his shoulder blade.  Before he and Paige married, he intended to have the tattoo removed.  It was the last vestige of the past, the last thing that would disconnect him forever.

*  *  *

Paige glanced up when she saw a familiar figure approaching.  She would never mistake the olive skin tone, dark eyes, black hair dusted with gray, the strong jaw line, or the highly defined cheekbones.  She smiled a little as Donovan drew closer.  She couldn't believe how he made her feel inside.  As soon as he was close enough, she came out from around her desk and began moving toward him.  There weren't any of her co-workers lingering around, so she didn't hesitate to approach him and give him a long, lingering kiss.  Of course, he had ensured that no one was around before entering the archive room.  If so, he would have maintained a safe distance.  After a few moments, he drew away and ran his hand through her thick hair.

"What are you doing here," she asked.

"Not what I expected you to say when you saw me, but I'll let that slide.  I was bored at home, so I thought I'd stop by and take you to dinner," he said with a smile.

"Give me a minute to shut down the operation and we'll go."

Donovan wasn't the only person with a new identity.  Kira Grant became Delia Nelson three years ago.  She had stripped herself of her old identity just as Martel had done.  It was the only way she could infiltrate the Justice Department.  She had known Martel had secured a job through here, but she knew nothing of his personal life.  Since his wife died, she had no idea if he had begun dating or what.  By either coincidence or fate, she had happened upon Paige Harrison.  The first thing that struck her about Harrison was the fact that she resembled Taryn Donovan just the slightest.  There were differences in height, weight, etc., but the hair and eye color were pretty close.  Harrison wore an expensive engagement ring, but she had never thought to ask about her fiancé.  Hell, she hadn't really given a fuck.  She had forgotten about Harrison completely.  She wasn't part of the plan, Martel was.  However, that had changed after what she witnessed.

She stood in the hallway, nearly getting run over by the oblivious couple.  She ducked out of the way and stood back.  Martel had another woman and they were engaged.  This was incredibly wonderful for her.  She wouldn't have thought in a billion years that Martel would go out on a limb to date again.  He was fairly attached to his wife.  It was time to play the game again.  She still had Martel's old records and had easy access to them.  Soon enough, it would be time to move.  First, she had to get acquainted with Paige Harrison just a little bit more.  After that, she could make contact with Martel.  Her luck was with her.  Grant was beginning to like Chicago, oh yes she was.

Donovan and Paige had had a lot of wine at dinner; it was the only explanation for their behavior that followed.  They entered the apartment with their bodies entwined.  As soon as the door was unlocked, they slid into the room and he slammed the door behind them.  She stood awaiting his touch and he didn't make her wait long.  He went to her again and kissed her heatedly, hungrily while his hands went to work on getting her out of her expensive pastel suit.  It actually didn't take long.  He had taken most of it off her while they were riding in the elevator up to their apartment.  All that was left was her blouse, skirt, and undergarments.  Those would take approximately five seconds to remove.  While he continued to suck the breath out of her, he felt her hands going to work on his clothes.  Of course, he had all of his in place, which was what he liked.  He rather enjoyed driving Paige out of her mind before he took off one tiny stitch.  She worked furiously at his shirt, trying her best to get him out of it before he had her stripped, but it was no use.  All that was left were her thigh high stockings.  Despite that, she continued peeling his shirt away from his shoulders.  She stopped abruptly when he gently tweaked her nipples between his forefingers and thumbs.  She gave him an exasperated look tainted by passion and he smiled.  He began backing her toward the bedroom.  He didn't have to coax her to the bed; she immediately went to it and awaited him.  

Normally, he would torture her for a while.  However, he had little patience himself tonight.  He stripped down quickly and went to her.  After kissing her breathlessly again, his hands and tongue teased every sensitive spot on her body [and there were a lot of them].  He lingered on her breasts and her _café au lait_ colored nipples.  Her breasts were round, ripe, and ample, just as he liked them.  She had begun begging him to come inside her, but he wasn't quite finished with his persistent tasting and touching.  He turned her to her stomach and began placing nipping bites along the slope of her spine, stopping at the very top of her buttocks.  She begged him again and again, but he didn't listen, _wouldn't_ listen.  Although he had committed passionate assault on that particular area previously, he parted her thighs from behind as his long fingers caressed her mercilessly until she cried out in orgasm.  It was what he wanted to hear, what he longed for.  She had barely touched him at all, but she could feel his hardness pressing against her, driving her mad.  His heated touch settled on each side of her hips and she instinctively leaned up to meet him.  He entered her slowly, allowing her to accommodate him before he pressed forward.  This was another part of their lovemaking that tended to drive Paige nuts.  It was an incredibly wonderful feeling sliding into her a little bit at a time, her moist flesh gripping, expanding, and then gripping again.  However, it elicited moans and pleas from the depths of her throat.  He liked hearing it, liked hearing her cry out his name.  

Completely inside her now, he moved within her as slowly as he entered her, his hands gripping her waist, and occasionally tweaking her nipples.  When she first felt him totally inside her, she began moving with him, working to aid in his own release.  She couldn't understand how this man could be so virile when drunk.  Of course, she wasn't complaining.  He was passionate, selfless, and demanding in bed, and he always managed to please her…and did so _repeatedly_.  His control stunned her most of all.  She could have dozens of orgasms and often did, but he could hold out a seeming eternity before he finally gave in.  She felt his body temperature soaring as he brought his body against hers harder and harder.  The musky overtones of his sweat began to fill her nostrils and she moved her body even faster, sensing that his release was close.  She heard a soft groan leave him before his body stilled and he collapsed against her back.  Was it the alcohol?  Was it just impatience?  She didn't know, but his control had seemed to slip away tonight.  Paige couldn't withstand the combined weight, so her body came down to the bed and his landed half-on/half-off her.  He mumbled a name into his pillow.  It wasn't hers.  It sounded like Taryn.

*  *  *

The next morning, Donovan awoke with a slight headache.  Paige wasn't in bed beside him.  Glancing at the clock beside the bed, he noted it was after eight.  She was at work, of course.  He made moves toward getting up, but he stopped when he saw Paige entering the bedroom from the living room.  She was wearing jeans and a baggy tee shirt, making it obvious that she wasn't going in to work.  She seemed upset, but he couldn't imagine why.  Perhaps she just had a bad hangover.  Both of them had drunk entirely too much last night.

"Paige, are you okay," he croaked out through a dried out throat.

"I'm a little sick.  Wine hangovers aren't pretty."  She came over to the bed and sat on the edge at his side.  "Frank, how much of last night do you remember?"

_What an odd question_.  "All, if not most.  Why?"

She laughed a trifle bitterly.  "Okay," she said sarcastically.  "I suppose you don't truly remember it all.  Who were you making love to, Frank?  Was it I or your wife?"

"Paige, I don't understand.  Where is this coming from?"  He was truly confused and had no idea what the hell she was talking about. 

"You said her name at the end of it," she said, hurt dripping from each and every word.  "How can we continue this relationship and then get married when you're still hung up on your wife?"

"I'm not hung up on her," he insisted.  "I'd been drinking and when I drink, thoughts of her sometimes come to the surface.  You know this month is difficult for me and that's why it happened.  I love you, Paige, and I didn't intend to hurt you."

"But you did," she whispered, her lip trembling.  "It hurt and it still hurts.  I want to set a wedding date, Frank, I don't want to wait.  If you're truly not hung up on her, you'll set a date with me."

He wasn't quite ready to do that.  It had nothing to do with Taryn [_or did it_?], but she was forcing his hand.  On any other day, he might have told her to get out, because he refused to be pressured or pushed by anyone.  However, she had a point.  If he were truly over Taryn, he'd set a wedding date.  "Yes, I'll set a date.  I want to marry you and start anew."

She nodded firmly.  "Good.  December twelfth?"

It was now October.  She wanted to wed in two months.  Something inside told him it was too soon and completely wrong, but he had agreed to it.  He did love her and had no further intention of hurting her.  "December twelfth," he said, agreeing.

She stood and made her way out of the bedroom.  Donovan lay back and stared up at the ceiling.  Why did he suddenly feel as if he were trapped?

**____________________**

**To be continued…**


	4. Back Up

BACK UP

Late 2000-Fall 2003

Kira Grant's ego had been stroked tremendously when she single-handedly took out three men set to destroy an airport.  She had saved dozens of lives, but four or five people had died, including Taryn Donovan.  She wasn't ruthless enough to take out a life unless the person deserved to die.  Taryn Donovan wasn't one of those people, it just happened.  Taryn had been hit seventeen times by the crossfire between her and one of the goons with a machine gun.  When it was all over, Grant had gone to the fallen woman.  By then, she was already dead, her blood flowing rapidly out onto the hard tile floor.  She felt badly about her dying, but had no sympathy for Martel.  Everything he touched turned to shit.  It was as simple as that.  She hadn't thought Martel's grief funny; it was the exact opposite.  What she found amusing was the fact that he thought she'd lower herself to shoot his wife.  She was a bad girl, but not _that_ bad.  Then when he stuck his gun in her eye, she was almost positive she'd die right there.  Although she had no desire to die at that moment, it would only serve to punish Martel further.  He would certainly go to prison.  She stood back and smiled wider as she watched several men descending on him, cuffing him, and then dragging him up to his feet.  He wanted to kill her, that was highly obvious, but he wanted to do it for reasons unknown to her.  Taryn Donovan wasn't the target, her husband was always the one.  Whatever the case, Kira Grant was celebrated by both the CIA and the FBI.  While Martel lost his mind and went to the mountains, she was offered his position on a temporary basis, and she jumped at the chance.  Of course, it was short-lived, but she loved the power.  She loved it and wanted more of it.  She had been around when whispers of special projects began springing up.  The spots would be offered to the elite of the elite.  The one she wanted was a special ops group, but it had been given to a man named Keller.  She knew very little of him, but it pissed her off.  She was directed toward another slot instead.  It wasn't nearly as exciting as the SOG, but it would do.

After a while, she'd heard that the leader of the SOG had been killed in action.  A replacement would definitely have to be found.  The young agents were good, but could be loose cannons if left without a leader.  She discovered [through her many hacking jaunts] that she was in the running to take control.  There were only three names on the list, but she had more experience and was far more ruthless than the other two.  She considered herself a shoo-in for the spot.  However, it hadn't turned out that way.  She was let down gently and told that she could continue on or quit and move to another assignment.  She had no intention of quitting, of course.  She'd simply wait for another death to occur and then she'd step up again.  She wasn't stupid enough to put herself in a situation where she'd end up shot or dead.  She'd been in the agency long enough to know everything.  She was surprised that she hadn't been offered Dubois' position.  He couldn't keep it forever.  She intended to be in line for that as well.  She had basically gone on with her life and forgotten about the SOG until she and her group were called in to assist with finding the son of the attorney general.  Her jaw nearly dropped when she watched Martel, clad in black, strolling up the stairs of the AG's mansion as if he owned the world.  She had wondered what the fuck he was doing in that position.  At that moment, she didn't want to be within five feet of the man.  Her plans to expose him for the fraud that he was could be set aside for a bit.  With Martel and his group, there would be no need for outside help.  Fucking Martel had control of everything and wouldn't share with anyone, especially her.  She had gone back to her hotel room and sulked until she felt better.  Her feelings grew worse when she heard that the kid had been returned to his father and that Martel's group had played a huge role in it.  _Of course it did.  Give him the world, because he deserves it.  _She was a grown woman, but she had a screaming kicking temper tantrum.  The day after that, she resigned her position and took off.

Grant didn't resurface for a while.  She continued her affair with Dubois to keep getting the information she fed off, but soon, most of it had dried up.  As each year passed, Martel's SOG group became better known in the agency and seemed to be a smashing success.  Martel's records were hidden deeper and deeper, but she could pull them up with a little hacking.  At that point, she began to design a new identity for herself.  She had made it her true mission in life to finish Martel.  She would live on savings and severance until a job came open in the Department of Justice.  She figured it was the only way to find the information necessary to ruin him.  She had taken a job completely beneath her, but it didn't matter.  She had access to tons of information regarding Martel and had plenty of opportunities to hack into the files.  Grant made sure her tracks were covered.  At first, she didn't find much of anything that she didn't already know, but her luck had changed when she saw Martel with Harrison.

As soon as she discovered that little jewel of information, she began to watch Harrison, to learn her habits, to watch when she took breaks, and had her routine down pat before she went home.  She would continue to watch her for a few more days and then become her best friend.  She knew the best way to Martel was through the people he loved most.  He was strict about keeping his personal life totally separate from his work.  He didn't bring his work home or vice versa.  She noticed that Harrison had never ventured out to meet Martel for lunch or whatever.  He normally came to her when he took lunch breaks.  It was obvious that either she didn't know where he worked or she did, but didn't bother joining him because of his rule.  She learned that Harrison was very much in love with Martel and often spoke about him around her girlfriends.  She had even come to work one day and announced that they had finally set a wedding date.  She heard December twelfth.  It was a little more than two months away.  That was enough time to begin communication with Martel.  He'd either break the news to his fiancé, or she would.  It didn't matter much to her.  If he lost another love, perhaps he would disappear forever and she'd have exactly what she wanted.  

Paige sat alone at a table in the break room.  Her usual tablemates were having lunch with the executives.  She had no desire to do that.  It wasn't her type of scene, regardless of the food.  Almost everyone had gone down and there were only a few people scattered here and there.  She was a bit lost in thought.  When she basically demanded Donovan to set a wedding date, she actually expected him to get angry and then tell her to get out.  However, he did the exact opposite.  She had begun to wonder if she misjudged him on that.  Every now and then, she questioned herself about whether or not she believed he truly loved her.  He said he did, he'd invited her to live with him, and he'd asked her to marry him.  Now they had a definite date set for a wedding.  Wasn't that enough?  Sometimes it was, but sometimes it wasn't.  She loved him very much and wanted to marry him, but every now and then, a doubt crept in her mind.  Of course, it had all started the night he made love to her and then called out his late wife's name.  Throughout the duration of their relationship, he'd never called her by Taryn's name.  It wasn't something he did, ever.  Did she actually believe his drinking brought it on?  That night wasn't the first time he had drunk and it wasn't the first time she'd lived through October with him.  She knew it was a difficult time, had never doubted it, and had never questioned it.  She understood the horror and the grief.  He'd shared with her what happened and she actually expected him to break down and cry afterwards.  But he didn't.  He told her the story and kept the same look and attitude throughout.  He was stoic and almost cold.  In fact, she hadn't ever seen him cry.

She picked up her yogurt container and scraped the bottom of it.  She didn't know what she was worrying about.  Perhaps she was already experiencing pre-wedding jitters.  After all, it had taken them a while to set a wedding date.  Marriage was a big step and wasn't something to be taken lightly.  She laughed a little at herself.  Look at her.  She was being absolutely ridiculous.  He loved her.  If he didn't, he wouldn't have taken their relationship so far.  How could a man act like he and _not_ be in love?  Shaking her head, she sat back in her chair and looked up.  At that point, she noticed that a woman with very light blonde hair was looking her way.  The woman smiled at her and waved a little.  Paige nodded politely.  Her lunch break was just about over.  Paige stood and began walking toward the trashcan.  The woman across the room stood and followed her lead.  

"Your ring," she said, "is very beautiful."

Paige jumped a little and turned around.  The young woman had a weird smile and very deep dimples.  "Thank you."

"I'm new here," she said, "my name is Delia Nelson.  I'm having difficulty finding my way around.  Do you know if anyone could give me a tour?"

There was something about this woman that she didn't immediately trust.  Her eyes were dead and flat.  Her smile was false.  "I could check with personnel for you, if you'd like.  It's not a complicated building once you learn the floor plan."  Paige turned and discarded her trash.  She had the greatest urge to get away from this woman and get away from her quickly.

_Wow, she is one timid mouse_, Grant thought.  She was nothing like the women Martel went for, well except for the big boobs.  She definitely had that going for her.  As she watched Harrison walk away, she discarded her trash and made her way toward her own mundane job.  She had done something to scare the woman off and would have to work on it now.  What the hell had she done?  Hmm.  Maybe she needed to work on her personality a bit more.  It was important for her to know this woman.  How else could she get more tidbits on Martel without her?

*  *  *

Fall 2003 

Selena Jane Larkin stood in her office perusing her orders for the day.  She ignored them and tossed them into the trash.  She had been working on the same damn case for two months now, so why did she need orders for them?  Her superiors and co-workers gave her a lot of flack due to her age.  She was barely twenty-four, but had started college at fifteen.  When she joined the agency, she had heard every jibe in the book.  _Are you potty trained yet, Larkin?  Will you need to carry a pacifier with you out in the field?  Can I change your diaper?  _Then there was the matter of her appearance.  She stood only five feet three with a slim, but petite build.  Her blonde hair was cut into a neat one-length bob that fell just an inch or two above her shoulders.  Her facial features were as petite as her build.  What she lacked in stature and appearance, she made up for with her mouth.  She wasn't easy to shut up and didn't take shit from anyone, even the upper brass.  Her mind was sharp and she did her job well.  If someone had issues with her, she'd point to her record and remind him or her of what she had done since she became an agent.  Actually, Larkin had little choice but to fight her way to the top.  She came from a huge family and she was the only girl.  She had had to physically fight to stay alive with her dunderheaded brothers.  It was the only reason she had gotten as far as she did.  Otherwise, she'd have been buried in the masses.  As it were, she wasn't at the bottom, but she wasn't at the top, either.  Yet, she hated working these shit cases.  She was allowed only one at a time due to the nature of the problem and the research that went into it.  Her backlog was enormous, but this case had taken on serious overtones, and she had to get it solved and shelved before it drove her to distraction.  It was time to move on, but she couldn't go anywhere just yet.  She hated it.

Larkin stared down at the file for the hundredth time, taking note of her research and evidence collected.  Three or four people were involved with this scam with all but one indirectly involved.  She gazed down into the face of her profile.  Kira Grant had been a CIA operative up until three or so years ago.  She had been all over the place, jumping here and there.  Her first interest in Grant was the fact that she'd been hacking into CIA records for years.  Her lover, Director Dubois, had been supplying her with every code she needed to access dozens of files at a time.  However, when she dumped him, she had had to find her treats through other means.  Grant was a fairly good hacker, but she didn't cover every track as well as she thought.  Most of her information centered around one man, Franklin Chase Martel, now known simply as Franklin Donovan.  Larkin's position had given her access to tons of shit that would make Grant cream her jeans if she saw it.  It appeared that the former operative was following Donovan around, messing with his mind while still continuously hacking into his personal files.  What the hell was she trying to accomplish?  She flipped through the file again, going over the history, and read about the death of Donovan's wife.  Grant had been there at the time.  She [as Donovan before her] wondered if Grant had had anything to do with the death.  Surely it wasn't some jealousy thing.  She didn't think that neither Donovan nor Grant had had any type of relationship while in the CIA.  In fact, from what she gathered, they literally hated each other.  As a further matter of fact, Donovan had tried to kill the woman more than once.  She found it quite ironic that she knew so much about these two people but had never met them face-to-face.  The time would come for that, and soon.

Her phone rang, startling her a little.  She'd been in some type of dream state.  "Larkin," she said, her voice slightly husky.  

"When are you leaving for Chicago?"

She sighed and felt the need to scream in her director's ear.  What good would it do?  He'd wait for the noise to subside and then he'd speak again.  "Not for a while, Will.  I have about ten thousand things to get in line first.  How am I supposed to approach this guy?  He's been in every three letter agency we've got and I'm going undercover doing what?  Finding hackers?  It's stupid.  Why can't I just tell him what I want to do?"

"Whenever men like Donovan hear the words Internal Affairs, they become jumpy.  He has a history of instability, Larkin.  You have learned that by now, haven't you?"

She rolled her eyes.  "No duh.  Of course I've learned that by now.  However, most of it was bullshit, I think.  The gun in the eye was a little precious, but not the tent thing.  Looks like the hag had it coming.  Thing is, she's following him for a reason and it's not to catch up on old times."  He was about to give her another speech; she could sense it in his voice.  Before he had the chance, she said, "See you later, Will.  I'll call when I leave for Chicago."

Larkin hung up the phone and sat down in her expensive wingback chair.  The only reason she consented to keep it was because it offered enough room for her to sit Indian-style.  It was the only way she could think.  It was weird, but it seemed to help clear her mind.  She fingered the file for the twelfth time today.  _Martel snapped tonight_, she read directly from a notation, _caught choking an agent_.  Of course, Director Dubois, who was cheerfully boinking Kira Grant at the time, had made the notation.  She glanced at the report from the hostage situation at the airport.  _Mental breakdown.  Donovan requested to be relieved of duty_.  Mental breakdown.  It didn't make sense.  Regardless of the situation, she didn't think a man like Donovan could have a breakdown.  Then again, she didn't know him, but from the record, it appeared he simply needed to chill out.  Again, it was no excuse for him to draw down on a fellow agent, but what could they expect?  He'd just lost his wife and then saw an old foil who had made his life hell from day one.  She shook her head.  Donovan and Grant.  Grant and Donovan.  The two names had crawled into her brain and latched on as if they were persistent leeches.  The time would come when she'd have to face both of them, but was instructed to seek out Donovan for obvious reasons.  Hell, why couldn't she just call him up and tell him that she was from Internal Affairs?  _Duh, Jane.  If Grant is following him and/or using surveillance or something, wouldn't she find out within a few moments who you are?_  Okay.  Selena Jane Larkin, IA for the FBI had become just plain ol' Agent Larkin out to break up an internal hacking ring.

F. Chase Martel, a.k.a Frank Donovan had had quite a time.  Kira Grant wanted to pay him back for some misdeed she felt he had done.  But _what_ for God's sake?  What she had dug up pointed to shit _she_ had done to him.  The first disciplinary action Donovan had suffered was the bombing of a CIA led facility.  Records showed that Donovan [then Martel] had been in command.  However, a flick of the computer had shown her the real deal.  Kira Grant had been the lead that evening, and she had _known_ the facility was CIA.  How many men had died that night?  Basically, she had killed them herself, but Donovan took the fall.  

Larkin picked up the phone and dialed a number.  As she listened to the burring rings, she wondered what she would say once it was answered.  After three rings, she heard a gruff man nearly spitting out a last name.  It was Donovan.  "Good morning, Agent Donovan.  I'm Selena Larkin calling from the regional FBI office in D.C. and I'll be in Chicago shortly.  I would like to set up a time and place to meet with you."

"FBI in D.C.?  Why would you be making contact with this office?"

She heard the harshness in his voice and could only imagine his penetrative glare.  Hell, it came from his photograph in waves.  "I'm sorry, Agent Donovan.  I suppose I should clarify a bit.  Sometimes, I forget.  I'm working on a case that involves rogue hackers who have been playing around with confidential files, mainly personnel files of various agents in the CIA and FBI.  I was instructed by my director to make contact.  Your director should be calling within the hour.  Does this make sense now?"

If she had been standing next to Donovan, she would have seen him looking down at the phone with a crazed look.  "Not exactly.  Who are you again?"

She sighed.  "Selena Larkin.  I'm an agent with the FBI in D.C.  I need your help and your boss will contact you, because my boss has contacted me.  How about that, babe?  Make sense now?"

"Agent Larkin, I certainly don't appreciate your tone or your unorthodox usage of the English language.  When will you be in Chicago?"

_Oh, he's so snippy.  Stiff as a poker.  _"Not sure yet.  How 'bout I call you when I am?  Chat with you later.  See ya."

In Chicago, Donovan hung up the phone and stared down at it.  Had that really happened or was it some type of prank?  Selena Larkin?  Who the hell was she?  

"Cody…" 

**____________________**

**To be continued…**          


	5. Encounters of the Upsetting Variety

ENCOUNTERS OF THE UPSETTING VARIETY

It hadn't taken long for Cody to dig up information regarding a one Selena Jane Larkin.  She had identified herself correctly, not bending the truth one iota.  Incredulously, he gazed down at the information Cody had printed for him.  Larkin was very young.  Her status had to still be in the rookie area.  An agent that young didn't have enough experience to go out without some type of senior partner or mentor.  For God's sake, she was barely out of college.  However, a flip of the page told him that he'd misjudged Larkin just the slightest bit.  She was in college by the age of fifteen, had her B.A. at nineteen, and then her M.A at twenty.  Amazingly, at the same time, she had been earning credits toward her Ph.D.  Selena Larkin was very young and from the sound of her voice, very cocky.  What the hell was she trying to drag the team into?  He had yet to hear from his superiors, but knew it was only a matter of time.  This Agent Larkin sounded fairly serious, but not at the same time.  _She had the nerve to call me 'babe,'_ he thought distastefully.  He carried the sheaf of papers upstairs and holed himself in his office.  He wouldn't wait for the orders, he'd call about them first.  He wanted to know what he was in for, because he had a feeling that Agent Larkin would only serve as a hindrance, not a helper.  

Before he grabbed the phone, he stood, stepped out, and looked down at Cody and Monica.  "Don't send any calls to me for about an hour," he demanded, as if they were his personal secretaries.  He turned back toward his desk and fingered the pages strewn haphazardly about.  He picked up the phone and dialed a number impatiently.  When he was transferred to the right person [after about nine dozen], he immediately began speaking, "It's Donovan, Director Richards.  I received a call from a Selena Larkin who claims to be with the D.C. branch and she said she would be coming out to request assistance from us.  Exactly what kind of assistance is this and why wasn't I informed before she contacted me?"

"Hold on a moment, Frank.  The information should be downloading any moment now.  In the next few weeks, you'll be preparing your team to help Agent Larkin break a hacker.  This will mostly involve Agents Forrester, Davis, and Larkin," he began, telling a tiny white lie.  He had no desire to go into the true assignment just yet.  Donovan had extreme issues with Kira Grant.  "She needs specialized help and I understand that Forrester is the best out there.  Agent Larkin shouldn't have contacted you before I did, but I'm sure her superiors will deal with that end of it.  Once the information completes downloading, most of your questions should be answered.  I know it sounds a little sedate, but it's a serious situation.  Personal files of our agents should be protected at all costs.  I don't think you can argue with that."

Of course he couldn't argue with it.  After all, _his_ files were vulnerable.  There were few people who knew of his other life [or so he thought], and he didn't want to think of the repercussions that would follow if his past leaked out, especially his encounters with Grant.  Yet, the assignment smelled like bullshit to him.  Within a few weeks, he was expected to drop everything to help a junior computer hacker?  Hell, why couldn't he turn it over to Cody and let it go?  There was no reason he had to be around for this.  Jake and Alex needed him more on their side of the things.  "No, I can't argue with it, but I won't sit here and say that I'm pleased with this, because I'm not.  If you're willing to drag the others and me into it, I suppose you consider this a priority case, but I don't understand the urgency.  Cody could solve this with one arm tied behind his back blindfolded."  He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "I'll drop everything to help her, but I don't intend to spend a moment longer on this than is absolutely necessary."  After a few other curt words here and there, Donovan disconnected the call.  There had to be more to Larkin's story than a simple hacking job.  What was she truly after?  If he didn't think _he'd_ get busted for hacking into personal files, he'd have Cody dig around in her closet to unearth every skeleton she had.  There had to be a few.  _'Babe' indeed_.  She was already getting on his nerves and he hadn't yet met her.

*  *  *

Each day when Paige went to lunch, she noticed Delia Nelson sitting alone on the opposite side of the room.  The woman hadn't approached her since the first day, and Paige was beginning to think that she had misjudged her.  She ate her yogurt and found her mind drifting to other things.  A few days ago, she had begun the slow process of getting the wedding together.  It didn't fail to dawn on her that Donovan wasn't exactly helping her plan it.  When she asked, he deferred to her and said it didn't matter.  Why _didn't_ it matter?  It was his wedding as well as hers.  Was he just not into details or did he really not want to get married?  _If you hadn't wanted to marry me, you should have said so.  Better still, you shouldn't have asked at all._  She sighed and scraped out the rest of her yogurt.  Why did she eat this shit?  She didn't really like it.  Sighing, she looked up and noticed that Delia was still at her table, apparently reading a book.  Paige couldn't tear her eyes off the woman for a very long time.  Delia had been so fascinated by her engagement ring.  She wondered if she were married herself or perhaps engaged?  She had a few close friends, but no family in Chicago.  She would virtually have to plan the wedding herself.  Basically, she needed support and didn't seem to be getting it from her fiancé lately.

Of course Grant saw Harrison watching her, staring at her.  _Come on, you weak bitch.  Come on over and start talking to me.  Let me get to know you.  Soon enough, you'll learn the truth about your beloved fiancé.  _Actually, Harrison didn't seem that all fired happy, did she?  Was all not right in her world?  She took a bite from her roast beef sandwich [rare, of course] and continued to watch Harrison from the periphery of her vision.  Sooner or later, she'd approach her.  It was in her nature to do so.  She wondered how she reached out to Martel.  Did she offer a comforting shoulder for him to cry on?  Well, maybe not crying.  It wasn't exactly Martel's style.  The only time she ever saw the bastard cry was when he saw his dead wife in the airport.  Today wasn't the day for Harrison to approach her.  She watched as she gathered her trash and left the break room.  At that point, she dug out a steno pad and began making notes.  There was a certain man who would receive a special note very shortly.  She wanted to think out what she wanted to say before she typed it up.  She'd make it no secret who it was, but her handwriting was atrocious.  She wanted Martel to be able to read every single word she wrote.  If she didn't type it, there was no chance in hell he could make it out.  Tomorrow, she would come back to the break room and hope that Harrison would approach her.

*  *  *

Annoyed, Donovan decided to go home early.  He had developed one bitch of a headache that didn't seem as if it would go away any time soon.  He'd dry swallowed four aspirin, but it did nothing.  It wasn't quite five and he didn't expect Paige to be home.  He'd been tempted to stop by her office and come home with her, but he needed some solitary time.  It wasn't that she clung to him or nagged, but every once in a while, he needed to be alone.  It was something that he had set aside almost each day.  Of course, it was normally spent at the nest during the wee hours of the morning, but he'd take it wherever he could get it.  He knew the headache was stress-induced, or better still, aggravation-induced.  The cases the team had received in the last few months were lame at best and Donovan often wondered if his superiors were losing faith in him.  He hadn't made one clear attempt at choking or shooting Kira Grant, so he didn't understand the reluctance.  Perhaps it had to do with this time of year being so close to Taryn's death.  Did they think he would fall apart, lie on the ground, and bay at the moon?  He shook his head.  It was crazy.  What made it worse was that he couldn't contact Selena Larkin.  He had tried over fifteen times to speak to her this afternoon, and he was put off each time.  They hadn't yet met and she was already avoiding him.  Interesting.  _I will get your story, Agent Larkin, you'd better believe that.  No one can fuck around with me for long._

Donovan didn't hesitate to strip down to his briefs before he dimmed the lights as much as possible.  When he was surrounded in relative gloom, he lay back on the bed and covered his eyes with his arm.  God he felt like shit and really didn't understand why.  Before he lay down, he had glanced at the clock and noticed that Paige would be home in about an hour.  She might get angry when she saw him, especially since he had not come by.  However, he had been good at ducking her lately.  _Ducking her?  Where did that come from?_  He wasn't ducking his fiancée, he was merely letting her handle everything.  He wasn't disinterested in helping plan the wedding, he didn't have the time or the energy.  Let her set up what she wanted.  It didn't matter to him.  He'd had a wedding before with Taryn and was involved with every facet, but then theirs had been a small affair with no more than half a dozen people in attendance.  Paige wanted a huge wedding with a pristine gown, bridesmaids, hundreds of guests, everything.  She had little time to do it all, but Paige was a woman who _could_ do it.  She had boundless energy and he sometimes didn't know where she got it.

He lay motionless for a few minutes, hoping desperately that sleep would overtake him.  It didn't.  Growling incoherently, he sat up.  He couldn't bear to turn on the light.  Without bothering to dress, he padded into the living room and closed every window shade he could find.  He noticed a pile of mail splayed out onto the floor.  He picked it up and shuffled it into a neat pile.  He padded back to the bedroom and crawled onto the bed again.  He flipped through the mail, noting that most of it was bills and junk mail.  There were a few letters here and there from Paige's family, and another addressed to him.  His name and address had been scrawled onto the envelope.  There was no stamp on the outside of it.  Apparently, someone had simply dropped it into the mail slot and then hauled ass.  Curious now, he tore open the envelope and nearly roared in anger at the greeting.  It read:  _Dear Chase, I'll bet you never thought you'd see that name in writing again, did you?  Well, guess what?  Here it is.  I've found you again, Martel, and I know a few people here and there who might be interested in knowing the true you.  I know about your little fiancée.  I've seen her.  She's quite beautiful and has the same hair color as your late wife.  Have you ever noticed that?  When I first saw her, I thought she was like her, but she isn't.  She's weaker than your Taryn was.  Anyway, I'm getting off track here, aren't I?  Sooner or later, I'm going to bust you and Paige will know everything.  Will she stay with you?  Will she marry you?  Of course, I could be persuaded to change my mind if…ooops…almost blackmailed you there, didn't I?  I'll be in touch, Chase.  Love Always, Kira._

Donovan crumbled the note into his hand, digging his nails into his palm.  The bitch had found him.  She had managed to track him down and now she knew his fiancée.  He gritted his teeth together so hard that the pressure was making his headache worse.  He slowly released the pressure and carried the letter back into the living room.  There was a shredder under the computer desk.  He straightened out the pages and fed them into it, reveling in the sound as it chewed it up.  What the hell was that woman trying to do to him?  He thought of the assignment and Agent Larkin.  Perhaps she was coming as a way to stop Grant's hacking.  He knew she hacked into the mainframe to get his information.  Despite the threat, the contents of the note didn't worry him much.  Most of what Grant said was for show.  _You're kidding yourself, Donovan.  What do you think she was doing at the airport with Taryn?  She was going to bust you then.  You're blind.  You must stop this woman before she destroys your life_.  What the hell was he thinking?  She'd already destroyed his life.  If it hadn't been for her, he wouldn't have had to assume another identity.  

He went back to the bedroom and grabbed the phone.  He stabbed out a number and listened as the voice mail picked up for the sixteenth time.  "Agent Larkin, this is Frank Donovan.  I have left approximately sixteen messages for you.  I would expect a call early in the morning.  If you intend to stop a hacker, then I suggest you get your ass to Chicago in the next few days.  Otherwise, don't bother coming at all."  He hit the 'talk' button and set the phone aside.  He put his face in his hands and groaned.  "Jesus, Kira Grant," he said, uttering her name for the first time in years, "You will be sorry you crossed my path."

Donovan didn't hear Paige enter the bedroom.  She saw his face in his hands and heard the slight groaning emitting from the depths of his throat.  What the hell was going on?  She noticed the mail splayed all over their bed as if he had tossed it carelessly aside.  She approached him slowly and reached out to touch his shoulder.  The instant her hand fall on his flesh, he reacted quickly, grabbing her wrist before half a second passed.  There was a look in his eyes she had never seen.  It was one that could not be described by mere words.  He was someone else, someone who was scaring the shit out of her.  The moment he realized it was her, his grip softened and the odd light died in his eyes.  His entire body seemed to relax all at once and his breathing came in slowly and evenly.  She backed away a few steps until her heart stopped larruping in her chest.  She had never seen this side of Donovan and didn't want to see it again.  For a moment, he wasn't sure what he had done to force her to back away like this.  He shook his head.  He knew what was going on, he knew what he'd done.

Paige was hesitant about approaching him again.  He had acted as if he was going to take her down or strangle her.  She watched as he stood and began to slowly approach her.  She didn't know whether to stand still or run for the hills.  As soon as he stood close to her, she dropped her bag and keys to the floor.  He took gentle hold of her arms and pulled her body up against his.  He kissed her deeply, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other sliding down to the small of her back.  It continued its journey down to her buttocks where he crushed her lower body into his.  Where had this sudden need come from?  A moment ago, he was ready to kill her.  Right now, he had never wanted her more.  He thought it might have more to do with the letter than anything else.  For once, she had an advantage on him.  He was virtually unclothed and she dressed.  She broke the kiss first and gazed into his dark eyes.  She didn't see malice in them.  All she saw was desire, want, and need.  Unceremoniously, she dropped to her knees before him.  First her hand was on him and then her mouth.  Despite the pleasure she was bringing him, despite it all, in the back of his mind, he kept asking himself the same question:  _Am I using her_?

Later, he watched as Paige prepared dinner for herself.  She had asked if he wanted anything, but he couldn't eat.  The headache had not gone away.  In fact it had worsened since their interlude in the bedroom.  Hadn't he heard something before which stated that intense sex could bring on a migraine?  It didn't matter.  He couldn't eat, it was the only thing he knew for certain.  She brought her meal over to the table and the smell immediately turned him off.  It was some type of Japanese stir-fry.  He watched dully as she picked up her chopsticks and began eating.  She had taken a shower twenty minutes ago and her hair was still wet.  She tended to comb it back from her face until it dried and then she'd go about styling it the way she wanted.  Was her hair the same color as Taryn's?  Was it?  Honestly, he couldn't remember.  He hadn't looked at a picture of Taryn in years and had nearly forgotten what she looked like.  _Had he_?  He was letting her down and he hated himself for that.

"Paige, do you think I'm ducking you," he asked suddenly, feeling an intense desire to get it out in the open.

She looked up into his eyes and dropped her chopsticks.  This conversation would surely kill her appetite.  "The thought has crossed my mind, Frank.  I feel as if you're not really interested in this wedding or marrying me."

He had thought as much.  "I'm sorry, Paige.  I don't mean to be so preoccupied."  He felt like a broken record.  Hadn't he said this before again and again?  He sighed.  "Paige, I want to help.  I want to be involved, but I'm not really into big ceremonies.  It's not my style."

She gazed at him curiously.  "Don't you want to invite your family?  What about your team?  Aren't you close enough to invite them?"  She had never met or seen any of them.  "Other friends?"

At the mention of his family, Donovan's heart began to pound.  "My family is spread out and won't attend.  As far as the team is concerned, they don't know about you.  I've told no one that I'm engaged.  They don't even know I'm dating, period."  He saw the hurt radiating from her eyes and he realized that she thought he was ashamed of her.  "Wait," he said before she began.  "I draw a fine line between my private life and my work life.  I never mix the two.  It's something I've done the entire time I've been associated with the government.  If more than a few people knew I had a wife or children, do you realize how vulnerable they would be?"

"I can understand that," she said, "but what about your family?  What excuse do you have for them?  Don't feed me that crap about how they're spread apart.  You've never mentioned your family.  I've never seen photos or anything.  I don't know how many siblings you have, or nieces or nephews, never saw your parents.  What is it?"

He bit his lip a little as his headache grew an octave.  "My family cannot participate, and I'd like to leave it at that.  Let's make this small and intimate.  I don't want the entire city at this wedding.  It's not practical or safe.  I don't want to fight with you about this, Paige.  I can't have some big ass royal wedding.  It can't happen."

She nodded.  "Okay," she said.  "I don't like your refusal to discuss your family with me, but I'll live.  I'm disappointed more than anything, Frank.  Unlike you, I've never been married before, and I'd like to do it up nicely."  She stood and took her plate to the sink.  A few moments later, she scraped her dinner down the garbage disposal.  She switched off the grinding machine and turned toward him.  "If you want to go small, I'm fine with that, but at least act like you want it."

He turned in his chair to face her.  "I _do_ want it.  I don't want to turn it into a circus, that's all."

"That's fine, Frank," she said.  "I'm exhausted.  I need to go to bed."

Once she was out of sight, he buried his face into his hands again.  Jesus.  If his headache wasn't so bad, he might give a fuck.

**____________________**

**To be continued…**                    


	6. Encounters of the Irritating Variety

ENCOUNTERS OF THE IRRITATING VARIETY

Giggling like an idiot, Selena listened to Donovan's numerous messages.  The best was the last.  She must have pissed him right off.  He was completely too irritated to see that she was trying to help.  However, he thought of her as an inconvenience.  It was obvious in the tone of his voice and the way he wanted to dismiss her.  _Well, Sparky, we can't have that, now can we_?  Sitting Indian-style in her big wingback chair, she thought about how long she'd make him wait before calling back.  Two hours?  Four?  Eight?  Wouldn't he be so utterly pissed if she didn't call back at all?  There was one thing she hated more than lying, stealing, and cheating.  That thing was some upper brass know it all who barked commands at her as if she were a child.  _I might be in my twenties, babe, but I know my shit_.  Hell, he should be taking commands from _her_.  Donovan was an odd duck, funny as hell, though.  _What the hell.  I might as well give him a call and end this childish shit.  Sooner or later, I have to work with him._  Fighting her inner demon, she grabbed the phone and dialed up the head Asshole of SOG Mountain.

"Donovan," he barked.

Larkin nearly burst into uncontrollable laughter.  "Larkin," she barked back.  "Thought I'd return your call, babe.  You are one persistent man, aren't you?"  She held in more laughter as she heard him release a very long and irritated sigh.  

"Agent Larkin, I don't appreciate being held on the line by someone who is intruding onto my territory.  I meant what I said on the last of _sixteen_ voice mails.  If you do not show your face in the next few days, I'm opting out.  I don't care what consequences await either you or I.  I'm tired of holding my team off waiting for you to show up.  They have other things, better things, to do with their time."

"Whoa there, babe.  Calm down."  He had not left his hostage negotiator persona behind.  He couldn't quite turn her away yet.  Hmm.  She had to make it up to him some way.  "I'm not into stepping on people's toes, but I need to get your help.  Whether you believe it or not, I'm not trying to skirt around you.  What say I book a flight tonight and get to your neck of the woods at the end of the week?  Would that satisfy you, babe?"

On the other end of the line, Donovan was clutching the receiver tightly in his hand.  He didn't want this woman within fifty feet of him, but he had no choice.  He had pushed until she consented to come to Chicago and now that she was coming, he could do nothing else but accommodate her.  "Agent Larkin," he began in a harsh, severe whisper.  "Would you not call me 'babe?'  It's very disrespectful and one thing you need to learn right away is that I don't tolerate disrespect of any kind, not in my presence, not in my team.  Do I make myself clear?"

Oh, he was going to be a barrel of laughs.  "One thing you need to learn about me, Agent Donovan, is that I have a mind of my own, and from where I sit, you're not my boss.  I'll work on the disrespectful tone, but don't give me that attitude.  Don't think I don't know for one second that you didn't have your computer guy and profiler dig up my dossier.  I'll bet when you saw my age, you had me pegged as a stupid rookie, didn't you?  I could have you pegged as a burn out.  Why, a man your age should consider retiring.  Did I say that?  I don't think so.  Now, do you trust me enough with your cell phone number so I can contact you when I arrive?"  _I'd truly like to tell you where to stick your cell phone, but I'll be good._

There were several things he wanted to explore.  There were several choice words he would like to shout at her, but he held back.  He was a damn professional and couldn't allow this woman [_she's not even a woman, she's a damn child_] to make him angry enough to lose control.  He had one Kira Grant and didn't need another.  "Fine."  He spat out a number and could hear her scribbling furiously.  "Call as soon as you arrive.  We'll want to have a meeting immediately.  I will not allow your presence to tie up our operation.  Good day, Agent Larkin."  He hung up before she could get in another word.  He had been downstairs when Larkin returned his call.  When he turned, Cody and Monica were gazing at him with small hidden smiles.  Of course, it wasn't exactly hidden from him.  He had known them long enough to sense it.  Grumbling under his breath, he stormed up to his office.

Surprised, Larkin stared down at her phone.  The high and mighty SOG leader had hung up in her ear.  Well, she couldn't keep letting that happen.  She wanted to get the last word in.  Oh well.  There was plenty of time for that when she arrived in Chicago.  She had wanted to make Donovan aware that she wasn't in such a big hurry to work with him, either.  She'd heard stories.  He was good, of course, but could be sorely lacking personality wise.  She could understand why he was so guarded considering his identity crisis, but beyond that, why bother?  Well, she certainly wasn't going to allow King Personality to shake her.  She couldn't leave Chicago without Kira Grant in cuffs.  It was actually more of a personal standard than anything else.  She'd been following Grant's tracks so long, she probably knew her file better than Donovan's, and she thought that wasn't the least bit possible.  Fully annoyed now, she grabbed her briefcase and started tossing shit into it that she would need.  Completely irritated now, she didn't realize that she was grabbing shit off her desk like staplers, tape dispensers, scissors, and she had been reaching for her two-hole paper punch when she stopped.  She growled a little and began taking the shit out.  What the hell was wrong with her?  She wasn't the only damn IA agent in the Bureau and she had no idea why she had been the _lucky_ one chosen for this mission of idiocy.  _Bastard.  I'm already sick of his ass_.  With a smug sideways smile, she gazed down at the number he'd provided.  She hoped she arrived in town fairly late.  It would be a joy to wake him up.  She was certain he'd be a real charmer then, too.  _Well, babe, you've messed with the wrong girlie.  _She grabbed the phone to arrange the latest flight she could secure.

*  *  *

Grant had been watching Harrison closely.  Something was not right in her perfect little world.  Problems at home?  Had she found out about Martel?  God, she didn't want the surprise spoiled before she could break it to her.  She did notice a marked difference in Harrison's personality these past couple of days.  She had drawn away from her normal little crowd of friends and basically isolated herself.  _Aw…poor baby is all depressed_.  Just by mere accident, Grant happened upon Harrison in the bathroom.  At first, she didn't realize who it was.  All she knew was that someone was in a stall crying her eyes out.  She ignored it.  Like she cared who was crying and who wasn't.  She turned on the water and began to wash her hands.  She looked up only briefly when she saw Harrison leaving the stall.  Her face was flushed and her eyes red.  Suddenly, Grant became interested.  Martel's little wife to be was inside the bathroom crying, putting more water in the toilet.  Harrison said nothing to her.  She simply went to a vacant sink and began reapplying make up that she had smeared when her crying fit took over.  Harrison wasn't paying attention to her and probably wouldn't say a word.  Grant groaned inwardly when she realized that she would probably have to make the first move again.

"Are you okay," Grant asked.

Paige jumped a little.  She hadn't actually realized someone was standing beside her.  Damn it.  Was she that upset?  "Oh yeah, just a little depressed.  PMS and all," she said with a shaky laugh.  She continued applying her make up without glancing at the other woman.  "By the way, Delia, I want to apologize for my reaction to you the first time you met me.  I've had a lot on my mind lately."  _Including a fiancé who doesn't seem to want to marry you as much as you want to marry him.  _"I'm trying to plan a wedding, and my fiancé and I disagree with how it should be organized.  I've never been married and I want a _real_ ceremony, but he wants to go to the Justice of the Peace or something."  She groaned inwardly.  _Good going, Paige.  You're telling your life history to a rank stranger._  "It's just very stressful."

Grant smiled a little and ripped out a few paper towels.  "Sounds like your guy is a bit selfish," she said as she dried her hands on the sand papery shit.  "I would think he'd take your feelings into consideration.  After all, like you said, you've never been married before.  I think it's a bit more special to a woman than it is a man anyway.  I'd line him out if I were you.  Your wants and needs are just as important as his."  He tossed the towels into the trash.  "Then again, listen to me.  I've been divorced twice," she said with a hardy laugh.  "Hang in there.  I'm sure he'll come around and see things your way.  If he doesn't, he's an idiot."  Without another word, she left the bathroom.  She made her way down the hall, laughing to herself and thinking:  _Fucking weak ass idiot.  If Taryn had heard the same shit, she'd have kicked my ass._

*  *  *

It was after hours again and Donovan found himself up in his office, brooding.  He hadn't wanted to go home, because he needed the solitary time.  _Face it.  You're afraid to see Paige, afraid she'll start in with the wedding stuff._  Why did it bother him that she wanted to do it?  When he asked, hadn't he planned to marry her eventually?  Wasn't that the goal all along?  Of course it was, but had he expected her to suggest a date so soon?  He shook his head.  It didn't matter.  He was set to marry her, he loved her, so what was the big deal?  Since their discussion in the kitchen, their relationship had cooled slightly.  He'd hurt her with his simple suggestion [_suggestion…that was a demand_] and hadn't had the foggiest idea why.  She knew his job, his life, and should have clearly understood his reluctance to turn this into some huge affair.  It wasn't him.  It wasn't something he had ever wanted.  _Is that true?_  Hadn't he thought of having a huge event when he married Taryn?  The thought crossed his mind more than once, but they hadn't followed through with it.  Sighing heavily, he decided he had to get his mind off this wedding, had to focus it toward other avenues.  

Donovan's hand landed on the sheaf of papers he'd laid on top of his desk and had fingered them for no telling how long.  _Yet one more irritating thought to crawl across my mind_.  He had no doubt that he would pull rank on Agent Larkin.  What field experience did she have?  What did she know?  She knew little of anything, had probably spent most of her time behind a computer chasing around teenaged hackers.  She dared to speak to him as if they were playing some rousing word game instead of working on a case.  Her immaturity showed in every word she spoke.  She apparently wanted to lord over him at every juncture in the road, but he didn't work that way.  If he was the one sought, he called the shots.  If she couldn't deal with that, she would take a walk, and he'd likely help boot her ass right out the door.  He had little patience for spoiled little brats who joined the agency simply because they wanted a thrilling, exciting life.  Those agents would be the first to die in the line of duty.  He shook his head when he read over her stats again.  _Twenty-four.  Twenty fucking four years old.  What the hell is she thinking speaking and acting the way she does?  _Cockiness was deadly in the field.  He picked up the loose pieces of paper and fed them two at a time into his confetti shredder.  He'd read over it enough to have it memorized.  When that task was done for the night, he decided to go home.  He couldn't avoid Paige any longer.  _Where the hell did that come from?_

When Donovan entered the apartment, it was dark inside.  He saw a slice of light peeking out from under the closed bedroom door.  He was completely tempted to knock before he entered.  _What the fuck?_  When had he ever bothered to knock on his own damn bedroom door?  For God's sake, this place had started out his before Paige moved in and it became _theirs_.  He reached out and touched the doorknob.  Donovan pulled the door open slowly, just in case she was asleep.  However, she wasn't.  She had a book in her lap and seemed thoroughly engrossed in it.  For a moment, Donovan ignored her and moved to his side of the bed.  He sat down and began undressing slowly.  She hadn't moved one inch.  How damn long was it going to be like this?  Either she would forgive him or they could call the whole thing off.  At that point in time, he didn't care which she chose, he was simply tired of the shit.  He didn't like walking on eggshells in his own damn apartment [_since when has the apartment suddenly become just __yours__ again_].  By the time he was completely stripped down, he thought of taking a shower, but decided he was too damn wrecked to do it.  He moved just enough to slip under the covers.  She could sit up and read all night if she wanted.  He had slept with brighter lights than this shining in his eyes.  He had too much on his mind right now to deal with one of her temper tantrums.  He turned to his side and closed his eyes.  Oh hell no, he couldn't let this go.

Impatiently, he sat up and glanced at her.  Her nose was stuck in her book.  "Paige, can we get past this?"  

She said nothing, but continued to read.  _Let it go, Donovan.  Let __her __go.  Drop her on her ass.  Any other day, any other time, you know you wouldn't put up with this shit._  "Apparently, you've spent the day sulking and I've spent it thinking."  _Don't say what you're going to say.  Say what you feel.  For God's sake, end this now before it goes too far_.  It was too late for that.  "I thought you might like to book St. Anthony's before much more time passes.  If you don't, we won't have a chance to get it by the twelfth of December."

She closed her book and set it aside.  "I thought you weren't _into _big weddings?  St. Anthony's is a fairly sizeable cathedral.  It probably seats well over two hundred people.  Do you think you want to take it that far?"

Donovan groaned inwardly.  He didn't want to turn this into a major fight.  Right at that moment, he didn't have the patience for it.  He was closer and closer to asking her to move out.  "Paige, I was wrong.  I love you enough to concede.  I'm not trying to placate you or stroke you or give you what you want because you're angry.  I want what you want.  Regardless of my behavior before, I want this.  I've thought about it long and hard.  I want to give you a special wedding, because you're right, you've never been married before.  Please, Paige, let's put this wedding together as we should."

His 'sulking' comment had hurt incredibly, but she was willing to let it slide.  It wasn't that she felt victorious over him, but at least he had agreed to help her with the wedding.  Up until tonight, he hadn't seemed interested at all.  She wanted to push the issue of his family and team members, but decided against it.  She wasn't far from truly pissing him off.  For a moment there, she thought he wanted to break it off.  She loved him too much to let go.  They had gone through hell.  She nodded.  "Okay.  I know you're tied up a lot and I understand that.  However, when you have free time, I'd appreciate your input.  This wedding is yours as well as mine.  I've been a bitch, Frank, and I'm really sorry for that.  I just want our day to be special because I love you so much."

Her hand reached out and settled on his cheek.  Donovan leaned up just a bit to receive her kiss.  "I know you do, Paige, I love you too."  _Did he love her anymore?  Was he sure of that?  _He had no idea why these thoughts were suddenly invading his mind.  _She is not what you need, Donovan.  That's why you're thinking like this.  You don't want to get married.  You want a comfort zone.  You were alone and you didn't like it.  Finding a woman, loving her, and marrying her is what you think you need.  Wake up, man, wake up before you're strapped into a loveless marriage.  _He shoved the voice out of his mind.  It was nothing more than jittery nerves.  Nothing more.  

Paige deepened the kiss and Donovan responded.  He didn't want to make love to her.  He didn't think he had the energy or the desire.  Yet, he responded anyway and made love to her just as she wanted.  It was what he did.  It was what he was supposed to do.  

*  *  *

Toward the end of the week, Donovan and Paige were sleeping soundly.  In fact, it was the first peaceful night he'd had in a few days.  Grant hadn't sent any more notes and he hoped she had forgotten all about him.  Things at home had settled down tremendously.  With little gusto, he had thrown himself into planning the wedding despite his feelings to the contrary.  He still hadn't forgotten about the intruder who would make her way to Chicago in relative short order.  He wasn't looking forward to it by the furthest stretch of his imagination.  Donovan simply wanted the woman to come, do her thing, and get the fuck out.  He thought he was fairly close to losing his mind.  He was sleeping peacefully, snuggled in his bed, grateful for the warmth of Paige's body.  It was the warmth of a woman's body he missed most of all.  The last time he'd glanced at the clock it was around two in the morning.  Donovan halfway thought he had died and gone to heaven.  However, a sharp ringing sound broke through heaven.  Was it the damn alarm clock already?  Surely not.  It seemed as if he had just lain down.  He opened one eye and glanced at the clock.  _Three fucking thirty in the morning?  Who the hell would call me at this hour without a priority case?_  He crawled out of bed, hearing Paige's protesting moan in his wake.  He stumbled over his shoes and cursed incoherently.  In the dark, he dug around for the ringing phone.  It was his cell, so it obviously had something to do with work.  _Where the fuck is it_, he thought after it had rung a seeming fifty times.

He grabbed the phone and flicked it open.  "Donovan," he barked, his voice hoarse and fogged with sleep.

"Hey, babe," a husky voice chirped over the phone.

Who the fuck was this?  His brain was clouded and confused.  "Excuse me?  Do you have the right number?  Who is this?"

An equally husky laugh filled his ear.  "Oh, come on.  You told me to call you when I arrived in Chicago and that's what I'm doing, babe."

Donovan took the phone away from his ear and stared down at it in a confused daze.  "What the hell?  Am I speaking to Agent Larkin?"

"Wow, babe, you're pretty sharp at this hour.  Yes, you're speaking to Agent Larkin.  You were the one who told me to call when I arrived.  All I'm doing is checking in," she said with a laugh.

"I didn't intend for you to call me this early at home while I'm in bed," he said through gritted teeth.  "You have overstepped your bounds before you've met me face-to-face.  Get off the damn phone and report to me first thing in the morning," he demanded.

"Report to you?  When did I become one of your agents?  I'm independent," she said gruffly, anger leaking into her voice.

"Not while you're under my charge.  Good night, Agent Larkin.  I'll deal with you tomorrow."

"Don't you mean later today," she asked sarcastically.

He gritted his teeth together once again.  He was very tempted to curse at her.  "_Good night_."  

He snapped the phone closed and tossed it back into his jacket pocket.  God when he saw Larkin later, he would make her morning hell.    

____________________

To be continued…


	7. First Impressions

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Donovan went to work the next morning grouchy and out of sorts.  It hadn't helped that the D.C. agent called him in the middle of the fucking night.  If any of his team made one wisecrack, he didn't know what would become of him.  He didn't doubt that the Chicago police would have to come in and take him down as he kicked and screamed.  Whatever the case, he would have to meet with Larkin and get the show on the road.  Later than usual, almost everyone had arrived already, probably wondering why he had come in so late.  Without missing a beat, he barked orders for them all.  He didn't want them to be around to witness the sheer bitching that was about to occur.  Larkin would learn immediately that he, and he alone, was in charge.  She entered the nest approximately five minutes after Jake and Alex made themselves scarce elsewhere.  The first thing that ran through Donovan's mind was that the FBI had sent them a little girl.  Her voice nowhere near matched her.  She was petite, but headstrong, and probably had a ferocious temper.  Hell, as small as she was, a temper was all she had to defend herself.  She absolutely didn't appear as if she could hold a gun, much less shoot one.  _Did your Mommy and Daddy give you permission to join the FBI_, he found himself thinking.  They stared at each other intensely, seemingly having a face off of some sort.  

_Well, King Asshole of SOG Mountain, you might be as tall as a tree, but I can stare you down with the best of them.  Still pissed that I called you last night?  _Larkin had studied his file for a very long time, knew more about him than his own mother, but seeing him was actually different than looking down at a photograph.  He was hard-edged and cold, just as she suspected.  His dark eyes were colder than his personality.  If she poked him, would he even feel it?  _Oh yeah, he's pissed.  It's all over him_.  She didn't appreciate the way he was assessing her.  She knew that he saw her small size and thought of her age and then immediately dismissed her.  _Bastard.  I'll show him eventually, maybe even today_.  

"I would like to see you alone in my office," Donovan growled.  "Follow me."  

She stood still for a moment and watched him bound up a short flight of stairs.  She was tempted to lag behind.  If he knew the true nature of her job, he'd kiss her feet.  Of course, sooner or later, Donovan would have to be told.  After one of the other agents advised her that she'd 'better go up,' she shrugged nonchalantly and climbed the stairs behind him.  By the time she entered his office, he was already seated and looked as superior as he thought he was.  She kicked off her slides and folded her legs in her favorite sitting position.  She nearly laughed when Donovan fixed his eyes on her with what she assumed was a WTF look.  She settled her folded hands beneath her chin and leaned her elbows on her crossed legs.  If he wanted to start a fight, she'd let him make the first move.  

Donovan couldn't believe this woman sitting before him.  What the hell did she think she was doing?  She came into his office and claimed it as her own, doing exactly as she wanted.  If he were expected to work with her, something would have to change.  Younger agents had the same complex about them.  They thought they were invincible.  He'd seen dozens buried with the same attitude and demeanor.  However, he'd thought that of her before, and he had called her in for a reason.  "Agent Larkin, I don't have to tell you that what you did last night was inappropriate.  Your behavior this morning is the same.  I don't know how long you've been an agent, but there are certain things I expect from you to keep you safe and alive."

"Now wait a minute, babe," she said as she sat up.  "I don't appreciate your tone.  You're acting as if you're the principal and I'm the student.  It's the age thing, isn't it?  I'm sorry if I'm still in my twenties.  Does that threaten you?  Do you feel the need to recapture your youth, or better still, your original hair color?  There's a little snow dusting the mountain.  Before you assume anything about my abilities or lack thereof, I think you should work with me a little.  Okay?"

There were many things Donovan wanted to say in response to that, but if he did, they would spend the morning arguing.  If his hands weren't tightly clasped before him, he would have dug his fingernails into his legs.  _Keep your cool, Donovan; don't let her get to you.  You're a professional and she's a dumb rookie fresh out of the training academy.  Your life is stressful enough right now as it is.  _"I want to set certain ground rules, Agent Larkin.  First and foremost, stop referring to me as 'babe.'  I don't want you to call me 'sir' or 'mister' either.  It's Donovan, Frank, or nothing.  Drop the insolence.  Secondly, while with my team, there are no independents.  You will defer to me just as the others do.  Working on your own will only result in a death, either yours or one of mine.  Third, you report to me here every day no later than eight in the morning.  I will not hesitate to call you at home if I must.  Finally, you disclose all information.  If you hold out on so much as the shoe size of a perp, you and I will have several problems."

In shock, Larkin actually didn't know what to say.  Her lopsided smile was on her face and her left eye had begun to twitch.  Ah yes.  There was a temper tantrum building inside her.  Her boss didn't tell her that Donovan was such an asshole.  She expected a cold machine-like man, but not this.  He was speaking to her as if she were a child.  She was no damn child, regardless of what she looked like.  She wanted to flat out tell him she was with IA.  Perhaps when she did, he would let go of this age hang up.  Did he resent her for coming?  Was that it?  He was too stubborn to realize that she was trying to help him get rid of Grant for good.  She gazed at him, throwing daggers with her eyes, and tried to compose and maintain herself.  What in the world was she doing here?  Her director would get a much deserved punch in the face for sending her to work with this damn robot with flesh.  _I should unplug you._

Sighing, she began, "_Agent_ Donovan, your rules are idiotic and beyond me.  I'm not part of your precious team.  I'm only here to receive assistance from your computer guru.  Despite what you think, I _am_ independent here.  The way I am is the way it is.  You will either deal with it or not.  I think you have little choice in the matter.  Send me away, I don't care, but I'll bet our bosses will just send me back.  You're so cranky, _Agent_ Donovan, but then I've heard older people need their sleep.  I suppose I should have held off on the phone call, huh?  Thing is, I thought you _wanted _me to call and I did.  Can you blame me for following rules?  I thought that is what you liked."

He clenched his teeth together tightly.  His dark eyes grew darker and his tongue snaked out to wet his lips.  He could feel the rage boiling inside him.  She was right, though, he had to put up with her.  There were no other options.  He was trapped and the little bitch knew it.  He didn't know if he could open his mouth, but if he didn't say something, he would literally explode.  "Speaking of age, Agent Larkin, how old will you be on your next birthday?  Thirteen?"

She laughed, the sound just as husky as ever in person.  "Oh my God.  Here I thought you didn't have a sense of humor.  You so rule, babe, you so rule.  Thirteen indeed.  What about you?  Fifty?  Shouldn't you be close to retirement by now?  Look, we can sit here all day and cut each other down about our ages, height, weight, lack of experience, and machine-like personalities.  What are we accomplishing?  I have no qualms admitting that it's my fault we got off on the wrong foot.  I'm tired, Donovan.  I didn't get much sleep, either."  She grew silent as she watched the tenseness leaving his body little by little.  She relaxed a little herself.  "We have a hacker and I need to find her.  There are several agents who have had their records plundered.  Including yours."

Donovan's tenseness was overshadowed by shock.  _His _files?  Of course, _his_ files, how did he think Grant had gotten his information?  He wondered if this little spitfire sitting before him had seen them.  If she had, she didn't act any differently.  His records were supposed to have been cleared years ago.  The only evidence of his identity was the tattoos and the knowledge floating around in Kira Grant's head.  Otherwise, he was relatively safe.  "With Cody's assistance, I'm sure it won't take more than a few hours, and then we can both go back to what we're comfortable with."  _This sure as shit isn't something I'm comfortable with_.

Larkin crossed her arms over her chest.  "A few hours?  It might take longer than that.  We have a suspect in mind and she can cover her ass pretty well.  Donovan, what do you know about a woman named Kira Grant?"

The moment the question was out of her mouth, a very slight tremble entered him.  It wasn't enough to shake him up, but he didn't like the feeling.  After all, until she had sent the note, she was stuck in the recesses of his mind, back where he stored F. Chase Martel.  The look in her eyes bothered him a bit.  It was as if she were judging his reaction.  _How much do you know, Larkin?  I don't like the way you're looking at me right now_.  He shook his head.  "I know nothing about Kira Grant.  I have never heard the name before.  Sorry."

_Why are you lying to me?  I know you know her.  You tried to attack her twice and you're denying it?  _Donovan was a smooth liar, very convincing.  She was sure the talent had helped him occasionally in his field.  Every now and then a few lies had to be told, but she didn't believe it was necessarily part of his character.  The scary thing was, she had a feeling that he knew she was aware he was lying, yet he didn't want to explore it.  _You are oh so complicated, aren't you?  What you must have been like back when you were in the CIA.  Your records **do not **do you any justice_.  She bit her lip for a moment.  Should she confront him now or later?  _Later.  Later.  You have to feel him out regarding Grant.  As soon as you have the information from him, then you can spring your real purpose_.  "I see.  That's who we're looking at right now.  We believe that she was having an affair with one of the upper brass guys in the CIA who provided her with passwords.  We're dealing with that individual right now.  We can't find Grant, because she seemingly fell off the face of the earth.  I have more information at the hotel and I'll bring it later, but right now, I wanted to give you an outline of the issue at hand."

Donovan didn't know what to say at first.  Her mentioning Grant's name blew the wind out of him.  He didn't immediately know what to say.  Finally, someone was onto Grant's misdeeds, but he couldn't mention one word about his past with her.  It would not be very easy.  "Why would you come to Chicago?  Do you think she's here?  I know there has to be computer experts in D.C.  I'm not the only one who lucked out."

She sighed.  It was time for her to tell a little white lie.  "Well, we think she's here, but we can't prove it until we can track some kind of computer activity.  I don't know when or if she'll do it again.  People like her will stop for a while to get the suspicion off them.  Believe me, all roads lead right back to the hacker.  They don't think they leave tracks, but they do every damn time.  The last time we saw Grant, she was a bleached blonde with a horrible hairdo.  She may be right under our noses and we just don't know it.  I have plenty of pictures of her and I'll get them to you soon."

_I don't need to see her pictures.  I know what the dragon looks like.  _Bleached blonde or not, he would never forget her dimpled, creased face."That will be fine," he said, his voice incredibly steady.  "I suggest you go downstairs and familiarize Agents Forrester and Davis with your theories and ideas.  Perhaps Cody can find Grant's profile and it won't be necessary for you to share yours."  Larkin nodded toward him curtly and unfolded her body out of the chair.  Before she stood, he said, "Agent Larkin, wait.  I don't want what happened earlier to happen again.  It interferes with the work at hand.  Are we on the same page?"

Larkin smiled and nodded.  "Sure, babe, same page.  See you later."

Donovan was about to respond, but she didn't give him a chance to say a word.  She took off and ran downstairs in her bare feet.  After he calmed down, he was going to make a nice long phone call to his superiors for sending him this difficult woman.  He made his phone call and came down about fifteen minutes later.  Larkin was leaning between Cody and Monica, one arm on each of their shoulders.  Her eyes were focused on the screens.  Stuck between his agents, she appeared younger than ever.  He stepped up behind the small crowd but didn't get close enough to actually touch anyone.  As he expected, Cody had pulled up Grant's information fairly easily.  If his hand hadn't been covering his mouth, they would have seen a snarl forming on Donovan's lips.  Her picture was scattered on both screens and his loathing grew an octave.  He knew Grant was back in Chicago, she had made contact with him, but it was information he didn't need to give Larkin, not yet.  _She knows already, Donovan.  She knows_.  

"Wow," Larkin said, "Look at that.  Ah, honey, do your roots.  That is one of the worst dye jobs I've ever seen in my life.  Look, just look at her."  She stuck her finger up to the screen and dragged it down until she found what she was looking for.  "She resigned?  Oh my, my."  Sensing another presence, she rose up and looked over her shoulder.  Frankenstein was right behind her.  "Now you know what our girl looks like, Donovan."  He seemed to be in a trance.  His eyes were focused on the screen, but they had a lost, vacant look in them.  "Donovan?"  He fixed his eyes on her after a moment.  They were wild and filled with rage, and they were focused on _her_.  She approached him and snapped her fingers before his face.  "Hey, snap out of it."

He jerked his head back, his face puckering in disgust.  He fucking hated it when people snapped their fingers in his face, and this little shit had to stand on her fucking tiptoes to do it.  "Do you mind," he said through gritted teeth.  

"We lost you there," she said, settling on her feet.  "Take a good look, Donovan.  She's the bad guy…um… girl."

He was aware of that, he was more than aware of that.  "I've seen enough of her.  I don't need to see anymore."

She fixed her eyes on his face.  _Why are you lying to me, Donovan?_  She turned back around and resumed leaning over their shoulders again.  Donovan bored his eyes into her back.  Actually, it was more like her ass, but why get technical?  She was trying her best to catch him in a lie and he didn't understand.  Was she in with Grant?  Was she supplying her information?  She wouldn't last long around here; he would ensure it.

*  *  *

A few hours later, Donovan stepped into his apartment and retrieved the mail.  He carried it into the bedroom, expecting to find Paige, but she wasn't there.  He found another note addressed to him and neatly typed.  He ripped the envelope open and glared at the piece of paper.  _Gosh, Martel, _Grant wrote, _I see your fiancée nearly every day now.  For a few days there, she seemed to be upset about something.  Why was that?  Did you say something to hurt her feelings?  Poor little girl.  Soon, Martel, I'll spill it.  Wouldn't you rather tell her yourself and spare me the trouble?  Paige pisses me off, she's a wussy.  Love & Hugs, Kira._  Growling like an annoyed animal, he ripped the note into a thousand pieces.  This had to stop.  Sooner or later, she would have to leave him alone, but he knew she wouldn't.  He had the greatest urge to call Larkin at her hotel and tell her everything.  Someone else had to know or he'd lose his mind.  He went over to the bedside and grabbed the phone.  He was in the process of dialing the number when the door came open and Paige entered.  He dropped the phone quickly.  Something about Paige's behavior struck him oddly.  She was a bit unsteady on her feet.

"Paige, have you been drinking," he asked.

She glanced at him and smiled a little.  "Just a couple.  One of the girls asked me to have a few drinks with her and we didn't have plans tonight, so I went along.  Why don't we invite her and her boyfriend over for dinner or something?  She's really nice, Frank, you'd like her."

He doubted it.  He didn't like many of Paige's friends.  "Not my thing, Paige, but I'm glad you had fun."

She rolled her eyes.  "I know, I know.  Secret agents can't have guests over.  I think I need a shower.  There's hot water?"

"Lots.  I haven't done anything.  I just got home myself."  He watched as she kicked off her heels and then went into the bathroom.  He stared down at the phone again.  _Leave it alone.  Leave it alone and it'll go away.  Larkin will find her hacker and then Grant will finally be out of your life.  Let her do it.  Keep pretending that you know nothing.  Keep lying like you've always lied.  Take your medicine, Frank.  Take it all.  Paige will never know and you can go on with your life, marry her, and have a future.  _A future?  He didn't think such a thing existed, not for him, especially not for F. Chase Martel.

*  *  *

Larkin couldn't sleep.  She had been trying to shut down her brain for the last half hour or so.  Donovan bothered her.  Well, not necessarily Donovan.  What bothered her was his denial regarding Grant.  Even with his record erased, he still could have served at the same time as Grant.  After all, he had records as Frank Donovan.  She took out her file and read through the pages again and again.  Not only was Donovan cold and stoic, but he was also tortured as well.  There were several photos in the file of Donovan at various ages.  She knew he wasn't even close to forty and his face betrayed his young age more than anything.  Hell, if she had lived half the life that he did, her hair might have gone gray as well.  There was a photo of Donovan in his early twenties.  Hmm…this must have been before he grew so bitter and cold.  He didn't really look half bad then.  She tossed the photo into the file and closed it.  It was bad enough that she had to see his face on a daily basis and she didn't need to do it after hours.  _When are you going to break, Donovan?  When?  Am I going have to come after you and break you first?  If anyone can help me nail Kira Grant, it's you.  Without you, we have virtually nothing._

**____________________**

**To be continued…**  __

                      


	8. Digging For Clues

DIGGING FOR CLUES

The next few weeks were draining for all parties involved with the hacking job.  Hardly anyone in the small group meshed well and when there was peace, Donovan and Larkin broke out in several memorable 'who's the king' arguments.  Both Cody and Monica felt horridly thrown in the middle of some temperamental battle with no one coming out the victor.  To them, it appeared as if their boss and Larkin were two children picking at each other back and forth, too stubborn to admit their true feelings.  Donovan and Larkin tried desperately to remain in separate corners, but eventually it didn't take long for them to tie up.  If neither of them agreed with the other [which occurred every other second], they'd tie up and fight about it for an hour or more.  Of course, it didn't help that both of them were stressed beyond belief.  After spending a day screaming back and forth with Donovan, Larkin went back to her hotel room and worked out her leads [which were few and far between].  If he ever gave her a break, she would use them to sneak around the DOJ.  She was fairly certain that Grant was somewhere inside poking around.  However, if she wanted to get loose, she'd have to sneak out or beg off sick.  For Donovan, it was a bit more complex.  Working through two lives wasn't easy on him right now.  How could he focus on the job at hand while Paige called his cell a thousand times a day to set an appointment for a tuxedo fitting?  He had given her his sizes more than once, but she felt the need to have everything custom designed.  They didn't have time for this.  _He _didn't have time for this.  On the twelfth or thirteenth day of the hacking shit [he had lost count…torture tended to do that to him], he had finally agreed to take off a few hours early to meet Paige for a fitting.  If he didn't, she'd break out the tears again.  _God.  Why is it **now** that I'm thinking like this?  Her behavior and attitude never bothered me before._  Of course, that wasn't exactly true.  She had begun to get on his nerves weeks ago and especially the morning she guilted him into setting a wedding date.

After a very trying and tiring conversation with Paige, he made his way down from his office.  He normally didn't speak to her there, but he had no choice in the matter.  He noticed that Larkin stood off to herself glancing over some papers in her hands.  Donovan had the greatest urge to approach her and rip it out of her hands.  What purpose would it serve?  It wasn't her fault that his fiancé was demanding and insecure [_Whoa…another unintentional insult_].  Larkin didn't move a muscle when Donovan approached.  She kept her eyes focused on her handful of paper.  Actually, she wasn't all that interested in the paper.  She simply needed something to do to get her attention off Donovan.  She had no desire to fight with him today.  For once in his life [well, for the past several days anyway], he said nothing to her, didn't comment about her bare feet, her casual form of dress…nothing.  He seemed out of touch and confused.  Sighing, she crossed her feet and leaned further back onto the counter.  Donovan graced her with one irritated look, but continued past her.  What he had to say wasn't relevant to her.  Her only function was to hinder his agents from other projects that were more worthwhile.  

"I'm leaving right now and won't return for the rest of the day," he told Monica and Cody.  "Call me if there are any breakthroughs, as if it's likely to happen."  His last six words were directed toward Larkin.  He had finally fixed his eyes on her.  He was clearly trying to stir her up.  _What the hell am I doing?  _He shook his head.  "I'll be back in the morning."

Larkin didn't move a muscle until Donovan was out of sight.  This was her chance to dig around like she needed to.  Without a word to either Cody or Monica, she stepped into her slides and darted out the door.  The two agents exchanged a look between them:  whatever.  They didn't understand what was going on and didn't want to.  The moment Larkin's feet hit the pavement, she looked around for Donovan, but didn't see him anywhere.  Good.  He had already made his leave and was dozens of miles away.  It was time to play at the DOJ.  

She pulled her car into the parking garage and immediately noticed a black Lexus a few cars down.  Donovan drove a car just like that, but she knew it had to be too much of a coincidence.  Besides, there was more than one of those cars lurking about the city.  If he needed to be at the DOJ, why would he give a vague reason?  Shaking it off, she exited her vehicle.  She had a very small window of opportunity and had to use every single moment of it.  Her shoes clopping hollowly, she made her way to the stairs.  From all accounts, the computer was somewhere on the third floor close to the archive room.  She climbed the stairs as quickly as possible.  Like all government offices, this one closed promptly at 5:00 p.m.  She reached the third floor after an invigorating climb [_Invigorating?  I'm nearly dying here_].  She stepped out into what looked like a long corridor with office doors on each side.  Most of them were closed, but one at the end was wide open.  Casually, she moved down the hall and saw several nameplates here and there:  _Gus Waters, Suzanne Muntz, Delia Nelson_.  Larkin ignored them for a moment and continued down the hall.  Her foot connected with the floor of the open room, but she stopped cold when she heard a familiar voice.  _Donovan_?  It couldn't be.  She listened carefully and heard the distinct accent.  The word she caught was 'pleasure.'  Not long after she met him, she'd heard him speaking to someone on the phone and before he hung up, he had said, 'it was a pleasure speaking to you again.'  Shit.  What the hell was he doing here?  The voice drew nearer and if she didn't get out of sight, he'd run right over her.  Running now and her stupid slides clopping right along with her, she opened a door at random.  Luckily for her, it was a vacant office.  She cracked the door open just the slightest bit and waited.  She saw the shadow of two people walking by.  As their voices moved further down the corridor, she cracked the door a bit wider.  It was Donovan and a woman.  Oddly enough, the woman's hair was almost the same color as his late wife's.  By the way she was touching him, their relationship wasn't casual.  She had the greatest desire to follow them.  She had no idea why this little bit of information interested her.  

As soon as Larkin was sure the two of them were well out of her way, she came out of the office and made her way toward the stairwell.  One close call was enough.  What if they were to return and see her?  She had her hand on the knob when it suddenly came open, nearly smacking her in the face.  She jerked back, grimacing slightly.  The door missed her face by about four inches.  The person who had come close to knocking out her teeth was a woman, slight in build, with bleached blonde hair.  _Grant_!  Oh yeah.  Her suspicions had been right.  If Donovan had waited for a few more minutes, he would have seen her.  _Or would he?  He was a little bit distracted by the woman on this arm_.  _Okay Jane, ignore that, do your thing_.

Inside, Larkin screamed, _Watch it, bitch_.  However, she didn't react on that impulse no matter how strong it was.  "Excuse _me_," Larkin snarled toward the woman with the horrid dye job.

Grant eyed the other woman up and down, sizing her up, making ready to pound her munchkin ass into the ground.  "No, excuse _me_."  What she truly wanted to say to the snarling little whore was a loud and satisfying _fuck off_.

Larkin stood back and watched Grant for as long as she could.  She stepped into the office with the 'Delia Nelson' nameplate.  _Nice identity you have for yourself, but I know who you are.  Soon enough, Donovan will as well.  Enjoy your freedom while you can_.  After today, she would definitely have to approach Donovan about Grant.  He and his little lady friend were in trouble.  She thought it funny how Donovan never mentioned a girlfriend.  _God, why would he tell you anyway?  Move on, Jane_.  She took hold of the knob again, ensuring that no one was behind the door.  She went down the stairs faster than she moved up them.  When she got down to the bottom step, she opened the door out into the parking garage.  Once again, she heard voices near where she parked.  _Shit, that **was** hiscar.  What the hell am I going to do?  Sit here and wait?_  Of course, that was exactly what she did.  Their voices drifted back to her, echoing loudly in the room.  If she so much as cleared her throat, she was caught.  _Thanks, Frank, I'm glad you took off for the fitting_, the woman said.  _I promise you'll love it.  _Donovan made a sound that was either an 'uh huh' or 'okay.'  _Do we have time for this, Paige?  The wedding is in December_, Donovan said.  Her eyes grew large and she made a face.  _Wedding?  He's getting married?  To her?  _She wondered if he realized that her hair was the same color as Taryn's.  He had to, he wasn't blind.  _He's marrying her…damn.  Jane, why do you care_?  She wanted out of this parking garage and didn't want to hear anymore of their conversation.  She felt as if she was eavesdropping and it didn't sit well with her.  Eventually, the conversation died down and the two of them got into Donovan's car and left.

She waited an additional five minutes before she left her spot in case they had forgotten something.  How long would Donovan be out tonight?  Damn it.  How could she talk to him about Grant if he was too entrenched in wedding preparations?  _Wedding_, she thought and then stuck her tongue out as if she were gagging.  She rose to her feet and went to her car.  As she climbed inside and brought the engine to life, she began grousing again.  She had Donovan's cell phone number.  If she called him, would he mind?  Of course he would, but she needed to get him alone for a few minutes and didn't see it happening tonight.  Her only saving grace today was finally confirming that Kira Grant was in Chicago and had infiltrated the DOJ.  It was time to get back to her hotel room and speak to her boss.  

*  *  *

It was nearly nine before Donovan and Paige made it home.  He was in a foul mood the entire afternoon and didn't appreciate being manhandled while some jerk measured his inseam.  It was one of the longest afternoons of his life.  When the horror of the measuring ended, he had to wait around for a good hour or so for Paige.  Impatiently, he paced about the floor, rubbing the back of his neck.  He felt another headache coming on strong and nothing would cure it.  When she finally joined him, he was starving and in need of a stiff drink.  He took her to dinner and ate his meal solemnly as Paige chattered incessantly about the wedding.  She was extremely excited, of course, and he knew he should have been sharing the experience with her.  However, he couldn't get into it.  He smiled and nodded in all the right places, desperately trying to show interest, but it just wasn't there.  When she asked him a question, he knew he answered, but he couldn't recall what he'd said.  Her fixation on the wedding had kept her from noticing his distraction.  Basically, he realized that it was the only thing she had to hold onto.  _These same doubts keep attacking you.  Why can't you tell her it's over?  Why **won't** you tell her it's over?_  He shook it off.  If he got his focus back, he would be fine.

The moment they entered the apartment, Paige went into the bedroom and started the shower.  Tonight, he hoped she wouldn't want him to join her.  He was down and not in the mood for human contact.  It was best to leave him alone when he was like this.  Paige knew, of course, and it was probably why she left him to start the shower.  The last time he was like this, he had scared her shitless.  He waited five minutes and then entered the bedroom.  By that time, Paige was in the shower.  Sighing gratefully, he undressed, but remained seated on the bedside.  His headache had grown a little, but wasn't the same blinding pain that he experienced with a migraine.  Paige was singing in the shower again.  Usually when he heard that, it brought a smile to his face, but not tonight.  Their relationship had been working fine until they set a wedding date.  Suddenly, it had all changed.  He stood and pulled the covers back.  After he slipped under the sheets, his mind drifted a little.  He found himself wishing that Paige were more like Larkin.  She was strong, secure, and independent, all the qualities that he admired.  _Larkin?  What the hell are you doing thinking about Larkin while your fiancée is no more than five feet away from you?_  _Had_ he been thinking about Larkin?  He didn't think so, it was more along the lines of a stray thought here and there.  He had only observed that the young agent had a few qualities that Paige did not.  _This must stop and stop now.  Good night, Agent Larkin._

The shower went off and he closed his eyes.  He wasn't asleep and probably wouldn't go to sleep tonight, but he had no desire to go over any further details of the wedding.  He simply wanted to forget today happened.  Of course, that wouldn't be very easy.  After all, it took more than one fitting for a tuxedo.  How many times had he been told that today?  Fifty?  It didn't matter.  He wanted the night to end.  Perhaps his view would change with the sunrise.  A new day and work.  Actually, thoughts of work should have turned his stomach as well.  At home, he had to deal with Paige and the stress of the wedding.  At work, he had to deal with…Larkin.  _Funny how your mind goes back there, huh?_  He had the greatest temptation to groan, but he didn't.  If he did, Paige would know he was awake.  Tomorrow.  If he could make it until tomorrow, everything would be all right.  Paige would be at work.  He'd be at work.  _Work…with…no._  _I won't go there, not now._  He fell asleep, but didn't stay asleep long.

His cell phone began twittering.  After he scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he got out of bed and grabbed the phone before it awakened Paige.  He took it into the living room and peered down at the caller ID screen.  He didn't immediately recognize the number.  "Donovan," he said sleepily.

"Good morning, babe," a husky voice said.

"Larkin?  What the hell are you doing?  You had better have a damn good reason for calling this late," he growled.  

"I do.  I'm sorry I took this route, but I need to see you right now.  You can either come to the hotel or we can meet at the nest.  This is something that can't wait until tomorrow," she told him.  "It's not something I can discuss with you on the phone.  I can hear your irritated breathing, but trust me, I'm not messing around."

"Larkin," he began.

"I need to see you, _Martel_," she said pointedly.

He closed his eyes for a moment and felt his heart stop for the slightest of moments.  How the hell did she know?  Was she in with Grant?  "How did you find out," he asked through a severe whisper.  He couldn't let Paige hear this conversation.

"Let's just say I'm in the know," she said.  "Choose where you want to meet me."

Larkin opened the door to her hotel room approximately forty-five minutes later.  Donovan stood before her dressed down in a jogging suit and well-worn athletic shoes.  She had never seen him like this before.  Of course, he had never come to her so late at night.  She moved back and allowed him to enter the room.  There was a small table in the middle of the room and he went immediately to it and sat down.  After closing the door, she didn't bother joining him at the table.  She chose an easy chair close to the bed.  She had no desire to sit near him.  They could speak fine at this distance.  _And why are you separating yourself from him, madam?_

"You called me Martel," Donovan began, "I want you to tell me how you know."

She drew her legs up and crossed them.  She looked like the world's largest pretzel.  "We IA agents know everything."

"IA?  You're with Internal Affairs?  How did you get access to files that don't even exist anymore," he asked, a twinge of amazement in his voice.

"Nothing truly goes away, Donovan, not in this agency and definitely not the CIA.  I've read your entire file.  I know everything about you from the time you joined up until F. Chase Martel disappeared.  Part of what I'm doing does involve finding a hacker, but that's not totally it.  I've been investigating Kira Grant for the last couple of months.  She was being watched a lot longer than that, of course, but most of her shit was petty.  However, she has been monkeying around with files and records.  She's falsifying information and putting black marks all over the place.  She did it to you more than once."

From across the room, he stared at her incredulously.  She knew _everything_?  Why did that suddenly disturb him?  He thought his past was untouchable.  Apparently, it wasn't, not at all.  He nodded absently.  "I know she's in Chicago.  She has communicated with me."

"In what form," Larkin asked, leaning forward.

"Notes.  She has threatened to expose me and reveal the supposed deeds I committed as Martel.  She also wants to tell my fi-"  He stopped speaking.  He nearly told her too much. 

"Fiancée?  I know about her, too.  It wasn't in the file, of course, I saw you with her today."

"_What_," he interjected.  "Are you following me?"

She rolled her eyes.  "No.  I needed to go to the DOJ to find Grant.  We've tracked the hacking to the third floor at the central office downtown.  I saw her there today.  She works there."

The third floor?  Paige worked on the same floor.  He finally understood how Grant could know so much about his fiancée.  He felt the old familiar rage settling in and he was ready to commit murder.  "_I want her_," he bit out.  "I want her for what she did in the past and what she's doing now.  She can't get to Paige."

"You can't do anything, Donovan.  If you move on her, she's gone, and although her tracks aren't totally covered, she can screw us up another month or two.  She can easily change identities again.  She slept with Director Dubois for a long time and has every code imaginable at her disposal."  She sighed.  This would be the hardest part of what she had to say.  "Maybe you should sit down with your fiancée and tell her everything.  If you don't take that step, Grant could tell her."

Stubbornly, he shook his head.  "I won't let Grant lead my life for me.  Martel is behind me and that is where he'll stay.  Telling Paige will only serve _her_, and I refuse to do that."

"Listen to yourself, babe.  You _are_ Martel.  It's not a separate identity or a different person or your damn brother.  It's _you_.  Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with that.  If you don't tell her now, how do you think she's going to feel if Grant does it?  I know it could be the end of your relationship, but maybe if you told her, you could work it out."

"What the hell do you know," he shouted.  He came to his feet suddenly and stalked toward her.  He peered down at her, placing his hands onto the arms of her chair.  He noticed immediately that she met his gaze with defiance.  There wasn't a weak bone in her body.  "All you have is what you see in a paper file.  You don't know me.  You don't know how I've lived, what has happened, or what I've lost.  You know _nothing_."

"I don't," she asked harshly.  "Franklin Chase Martel, born in the month of July on a clear day in 1969.  Parents are Seth and Tamara.  You have two brothers and a sister, all of whom are older than you and married.  Your nephew, born in August of 2000, is named after you.  You were disciplined for attacking Kira Grant in 1998 and offered a chance to live again with a different identity.  You chose Franklin as your first name, dropped Chase Martel, and then added Donovan after spying the name on a truck outside the central office.  You were married one time to Taryn Littleton in October of 1999.  She was murdered approximately one month later.  You worked for a while as a hostage negotiator until the death of your wife.  After nearly putting a bullet in the head of Kira Grant, you disappeared for six months and then reappeared in 2001 where you assumed the current position you hold.  Your psychological evaluation denotes a very controlled man, but one very sane."

His jaws clenched tightly together, he growled again, and moved away.  For a moment, he nearly slipped into a mode he had never fallen into before.  The feeling was similar to the sensation he experienced just before he was set to attack.  Paige had seen that side of him.  However, instead of reaching out and grasping Larkin violently, he had been more than tempted to grab her and kiss her instead.  Not good.  Not good at all.  "I won't tell her," he said, exasperated.  "If you can do your job and if you let me do mine, we can have her before anyone knows.  I don't intend to put Paige through that."

"You'd rather lie to her instead?"

He turned to face her again.  She hadn't flinched.  Her defiant gaze was ever present, more defiant than ever before.  "Keep out of my personal life.  It has nothing to do with you or this."

"Your refusal to mesh your personal and private life will lead to the destruction of your relationship," she said.

Donovan stalked toward her again.  "Would you _shut up_," he demanded.  "Don't talk to me about my private life.  It is of no concern to you."

"Do you not get it," she asked, her anger evident in her eyes.  "Grant works with your fiancée.  She will tell her.  You can bet on that.  _Listen_ to me."

Nope.  He wasn't going to listen to her or anyone.  He moved away again.  "Get out," he demanded.

"Have you forgotten that you're in _my_ hotel room?  Perhaps _you_ should get out," she said.

She was fucking him up, messing with his internal switches.  He didn't like being caught off guard and she was doing it so well.  "Fine," he spat.  "Tomorrow, you bring me everything you have."

"Of course, Agent Donovan," she said sarcastically.

He stormed out of her hotel room and slammed the door behind him.  Larkin sighed heavily.  That was the most intense argument she had ever had with Donovan.  She wasn't sure she could handle many more like that without doing something rash.

**____________________**

**To be continued…**            


	9. Stray Thoughts

STRAY THOUGHTS

Donovan parked in his regular slot and hesitated before shutting off the engine.  His late night meeting with Larkin had gone so very badly.  He had never thought he'd encounter another person who knew so much about his past.  She had laid her finger on more than he was willing to give.  He sat back in the car seat, one hand keeping contact with the steering wheel while he leaned his elbow against the door.  He couldn't get out of the car immediately, had absolutely no desire to move.  He needed to shake off the meeting and the information Larkin fed him.  If he didn't, he'd go to the DOJ first thing in the morning and take care of Kira Grant once and for all.  It was a serious impulse that he would have extreme difficulty controlling.  If Larkin didn't rein him in…  _Larkin?  Reining me in?  Drop it.  Drop it **now**_.  Donovan had no idea what time it was, but he was in no hurry to go inside.  If Paige noticed his absence in bed [which she would], she would immediately question him.  He was in no hurry to tell her anything.  He had to make up some white lie to tell her.  _A lie?  You want to lie to her?  Why is lying necessary?  She knows your job and what you do.  Tell her you had an emergency meeting._  It was true that she knew of his job and daily functions, but she had no idea he was working with a female agent.  _And why does she not_?  He sighed.  It was a question he'd asked himself dozens of times.  Paige wasn't typically jealous, but then he had never given her reason to be.  _Am I now?  What am I thinking?  What am I doing?  _After a few more moments of solitude, he gathered himself and finally decided to go inside.  Paige would be awake with tons of questions.  He should have stayed at the hotel [_…with Larkin_], but there would have been a huge confrontation and even more questions.  Donovan slipped the key into the lock and held his breath.  In his current pissy mood, if Paige grew demanding or sulky, he thought he might go stark raving mad and throw her out for good.  

As he expected, his absence had awakened her.  Paige lay curled up in the corner of the couch with her head resting on her arm.  She had apparently fallen asleep waiting for him to return.  He was tempted to leave her there and then go back to bed, but he wound up approaching her.  The moment he touched her shoulder, she woke up and smiled at him a little.  It was then that he noted the time:  3:15.  What was it about Larkin and predawn hours […_she was so close…you felt her breath and she felt yours…her perfume was nice_]?  

"Where were you," Paige asked as she stretched dramatically.  "Were you called out?"

He nodded.  "Yeah, but it was no big deal [_I just nearly kissed another woman, that's all_].  Let's go back to bed."

Donovan was out of bed before five.  He hadn't been able to go back to sleep.  Instead, he rose and began his morning ritual a bit early.  He came back into the apartment, sweating lightly from his run, and his eyes fell on something he had overlooked the day before.  It was another note.  Temptation forced him to feed it into the shredder, but he hesitated.  Despite what he felt, he was morbidly curious as to what the bitch was going to say next.  _Drawing closer and closer to your little fiancée, Martel.  She is completely fixated on you.  I have counted fifteen times that she has declared her love for you in two hours.  She's so happy, but so clueless.  Confess to her before I decide to take matters into my own hands.  _He wrapped his hands around the note and nearly ripped it up.  However, he again found himself hesitating.  This was correspondence, evidence, and he had stupidly been destroying it from the day he had begun accepting it.  He hung onto the envelope for later.  It would be something he could show Larkin [_…after last night, you can't quite stop thinking about her, can you_].  He slid the note into his coat pocket.  Silently, he moved into the bedroom and saw that Paige was still asleep [_thank God_].  If he showered right now, he could get out of the apartment before the alarm clock sounded.

When he entered the nest, it was darkened and quiet.  No one would arrive for a couple more hours and he needed the time to prepare himself for another trying day.  He moved to hit the lights when he noticed a glow emanating from one of Cody's computers.  It struck him odd because the young agent was nearly paranoid about the machines and would never leave them open and running.  The only machine that worked all day and night was the computer patched directly to Central.  He stepped over to it, intent on shutting it down when he heard an indignant yell:  _Get the hell off my hand_.  Donovan looked down and saw Larkin on the floor.  She had apparently been going through several documents at once.  She had been sprawled out on the floor, propped up on her elbow.  Now, she was sitting up, glaring at him hatefully as she caressed her hand.  

"Would you watch where you put your big ass feet," she yelled.

At first, he was very concerned, but after her insolent response, the concern became anger.  "What the hell are you doing here, Larkin?  How the hell did you get in?" 

"What?  No 'are you okay, Agent Larkin' or 'I'm sorry Agent Larkin.'  You've broken my hand with your size fifteens and all you can do is make demands of me?"  He said nothing, only continued to glare at her.  She shook her head.  "What a big heart you have, Donovan.  Your concern for me is very touching.  In answer to your questions, I couldn't go back to sleep after you left and I thought I'd get some things in order before the others arrive.  Cody let me borrow his passkey last night because I asked.  Before you give yourself a coronary yelling, I'm giving it back today.  I will never enter your temple without your knowledge again."   

"If your hand was broken," he began severely, "don't you think you'd have difficulty touching it without screaming?  If you want a passkey in the future, come to me and ask."  He presented his hand to her and waited for her to take it.  He immediately noticed she was looking at him distrustfully.  "Get up, Larkin.  Either do it on your own or let me help you.  I have to show you something."

Smartly, she smacked his hand away and stood on her own.  He sighed in disgust and turned away from her.  He stomped up to his office.  Larkin waited a good two minutes before she followed his lead.  She entered his office just as he was flicking on the light and removing his coat.  Before he tossed his coat onto the back of a nearby chair, he dug an envelope out of its pocket.  He sat down with it and plucked out a single sheet of notepaper.  Instead of approaching Donovan from the front, she stood at his side just inches behind him.  He immediately felt the slight pressure of her upper body leaning halfway on his shoulder.  The perfume was the same as last night, light and sweet.  This position was nothing unusual for Larkin.  She had done this billions of times with people taller than herself.  However, the moment her body made contact with his, it felt…different.  His body was warm, his shoulder firm and well conditioned.  There was a nice smell about him, one that was mixed and mingled with cologne and soap.  It was an odd experience for her, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable settling her arm on him.  _Hmm…maybe he **is** a babe.  God, Jane, knock it off!_  _Focus on what you're doing. _

_Move move move_, Donovan thought.  It would have been easier simply telling her to do it, but his mouth wouldn't open.  Instead of embarrassing both her and him, he flattened out the note so she could read over his shoulder.  Perhaps as soon as she saw the words, she would get away [_…and maybe she won't…wouldn't that be nice_].  He didn't bother telling her what it was [_could he speak anyway_], he simply let her read it.  She was a smart girl and could figure it out.  After reading the note a few times, she continued to stare at it [_…be honest…you don't want to move…how many times do you need to read the damn thing_] as if trying to memorize it.  It was no secret who had written it.  She moved away and took the note with her.  _Thank God_, Donovan thought.  If she hadn't moved, things would have started to become a bit on the interesting side.  She sat in the chair across from him and turned herself into a giant pretzel again.

"Have you kept any others," she asked as she made eye contact [_…have I ever noticed how dark his eyes are…wow_].

"No," he answered simply.  "I shredded them," he said blandly [_…her eyes are definitely gray…I thought they were blue, but I was wrong_].  "They're not something I would ever want to keep.  Would you?"

"For _evidence_," she said with slight sarcasm.  "Surely you know what that is, don't you, babe?"  She watched as he clinched his fists tightly and could clearly see his jaw tensing up.  "One note is okay, but several would be very nice.  I'm sure she types these up at her work computer."  She tossed the note and its envelope back onto his desk.  "Have you ever thought of facing off with her, setting her up maybe?  She's set you up more times than I care to review."  If she thought he'd allow it, she'd touch his hand.  Despite his machine-like demeanor, he _was _human, and Grant had ruined him more than once.  "I can't say I understand her motivation, not entirely, but I hope you can fill in the holes.  What is it, Donovan, what is her deal with you?  Were you lovers?  Did you jilt her?  What?"

She had only known him a couple of weeks and she was trying to dig into him.  "The thought of her being my lover turns my stomach.  It was nothing like that," he began.  "It was competition derived, nothing more than that.  I'm sure she victimized many others before me, but she considered me her _only _competition.  She was at the top of everything, received glowing reviews, praise, and so on.  When it started coming to me at an equal rate, she lost sight of the true reason why she joined.  Her mission in life became defeating me in any way possible, even if she had to steal from me, to cheat, or sleep around.  Simply put, Selena, she doesn't like to lose."

_Selena?  When did he suddenly start calling me that?  He has barked Larkin at me since day one, but now it's Selena?  I love the way he says my name, wish he would say it again_.  "Obviously not, _Frank_.  She certainly goes to a tremendous amount of trouble to ruin you.  I don't understand the need for a new identity.  What happened isn't even on you."  She sighed.  "I mean, I understand that you have some pretty harsh shit here and there, but is it worth it?  It's a lot of grief, a lot of trouble."

_Did she just call me Frank?  Has she ever done that before?_  Her words sounded very similar to what she had started last night when he was tempted to kiss her.  Donovan didn't want to feel that way again [_…don't you_].  The old anger began to build and it was time to punish her for it, punish her for something she couldn't really control.  "You are treading in territory that you shouldn't touch.  I suppose if you were around back then, it might have made a difference, huh?  However, you weren't.  What were you anyway?  Nineteen?  Wouldn't you have just completed high school?"

Amazed, she glared at him.  How could he be so _normal _at one moment and then so very horrible at the next?  "Why do you always have to be such an asshole?  No.  Why do you always have to be such a prick asshole?  What have I done to you, Donovan?  I'm trying to help, but you don't want it.  Can I help it if I'm young?  Can you not just let that go?  Try something new for a change.  Why not my height?  Weight?  Hair color?  Anything else, just not that.  At first, I thought you had issues with my presence here, but now, I think it's more than that.  You're almost envious of me.  Is it my fault that you won't ever recapture what was lost?  _Is it_?"  She unfolded her body from the chair and stomped toward the exit, her bare feet slapping in time to an unheard beat.

Donovan faced two choices.  He could either let her go and continue as they had since day one, or he could go after her and apologize.  Growling, he stood and took after her.  "Selena, wait," he called.  He caught her near the door.  She whirled around and faced him, fixing him with a disgusted look.  "I'm sorry.  Maybe you're right.  Maybe I am jealous of you, your youth, and the opportunities that I will never have again.  I'm very bitter and when my past is brought up, I come out fighting.  It took a few years to overcome some of it and then there are several things I will never forget.  When you touch that, I bite, and sometimes I bite hard."

She nodded, but she honestly didn't know what to say next.  Instead of trying to respond to him, she turned, fully intent on gathering her documents and taking them to the conference table.  Before she slid past him, he took hold of her arm.  He wanted to apologize again, but when he turned her body toward his, he didn't say one word.  He felt a little strange, as if some alien force crawled down his throat and ripped out his vocal cords.  _What am I doing?  Why am I doing this?  Don't go there; don't dip into that pool of deceit.  Don't_.  He couldn't listen to the command; he batted it aside and pushed it out.  Last night he had beaten the temptation to kiss her, and with good reason.  They were entirely too close to her bed.  However, today, the environment was slightly different.  He was on his turf, his territory.  If he actually followed through with the impulse, what would happen next?  _You fucking idiot.  Stop this shit and just do it for God's sake_.  It was a kiss, a simple little kiss that meant nothing, and would lead to less.  She must have sensed what he wanted, because she stood on her tiptoes as he leaned down to meet her.  The moment his lips touched hers, the kiss was far from little or simple.  He had never imagined that one kiss could shake him so much.  Donovan immediately pressed forward, deepening the kiss, and knew at that moment that he couldn't break it  [_…if this had happened last night, I wouldn't have gone home_].Her mouth opened to accept his insistent tongue and she was swept away by his scent, touch, and taste.  The moment she felt his hands in her hair, she moaned a little.  She had wondered what those long fingers would feel like running through it [_…have I been daydreaming about that…his hands…his fingers…dear God_].  Larkin broke it almost abruptly, noticing that Donovan wasn't exactly ready to let her go.  However, it didn't take long for him to come back down to earth.  The moment he realized what he'd done and with whom, he stepped back and away.  

_What the hell did I just do?  _He was set to marry his fiancée in December, but there he stood kissing someone else, an inch away from ripping her out of her clothes and taking a step that would ruin his relationship with Paige forever [_…it's already crumbling around me_].  "I'm sorry," he mumbled before making his way back toward his office.

Larkin grunted a reply and walked in the opposite direction, stumbling over her slides.  She caught herself on the conference table.  Her heart was beating hard, pumping blood at an alarming rate.  When she felt his hand on her arm, she had known what was about to happen.  She could have easily stopped it, but she didn't try very hard.  The moment his hand entered her hair, she had wanted to feel both of them all over her.  It would have taken maybe three or four more minutes before she had begun begging him to take her.  _Take you where, Jane?  You're utterly clueless.  He's practically a married man.  _She slipped her feet into her slides and debated for a few seconds.  Should she leave?  Should she go?  What if he came back down and kissed her again?  _Would you mind?_  Oh hell no.  She turned and made her way toward the exit again.

"Agent Larkin, where do you think you're going," Donovan barked gruffly.

She turned around and saw him standing on the top stair.  The asshole had come back.  "It's not even seven in the morning, my day doesn't start until eight," she said.  "See you in an hour."

"No you won't," he said.  "I want you to prepare a report with your findings.  Leave out any information pertaining to me, but ensure that you clearly indicate who you're looking for and why.  I suggest you get started.  The rest of the team will arrive within the hour."

"Is that how you act every time you kiss a woman," she called smartly.

"No," he snapped, "if her kiss is good, I might smile.  Go to it."

"If you smiled, I'd hear seams rip for six weeks," she snarled back.

Larkin watched as he slipped back into his office.  She had nearly told him where he could stick his report.  How dare he command her about as if she were beneath him.  She wanted to leave anyway, wanted it so desperately that she made a step closer toward the exit.  Instead, she huffed and groaned.  Following orders had never been her strong suit, but honestly, if she walked out, she would never return.  She had been working on this case too long to give up now.

Donovan sat at his desk with his head in his hands.  He had acted like an incredible jerk, but how else could he deal with what he had just done?  _It's nothing more than a few doubts here and there.  You're nervous and reluctant.  What you're feeling is completely normal._  Was it?  Had he had any doubts about Taryn?  Had he even _wanted_ to kiss another woman before his first marriage?  _Admit it, Donovan.  Just admit it.  You don't want to marry Paige.  Admit it and move on.  _He looked up for a moment.  He hadn't kissed Larkin because of any doubts about getting married.  He'd kissed her for a more complex reason.  He was attracted to her.  It was a tough thing to admit, but it was true.  He stood and stepped out.  Larkin was busily typing away and grumbling at the same time.  It was loud enough to reach his ears.  He specifically caught:  _asshole, bastard, prick, lousy ass kisser, yuck_.  He wanted to apologize, but if he uttered one syllable, he would be all over her.  Sighing, he turned and reentered his office.  Perhaps the others would drift in and he could breathe again.

*  *  *

Paige looked up with a smile as she watched her fiancé approaching.  "Wow, Frank, what an unexpected surprise.  What are you doing here?"

_Yes, Donovan.  What **are** you doing there?  A nice little trip of the guilt variety, perhaps?_  "I thought I'd take you to dinner if you don't have any plans."

"Nope," she said with a smile, "Schedule all clear just especially for you."

Donovan took Paige to new place a few blocks down from the DOJ.  He'd heard Alex and Cody touting its food and atmosphere.  He had nearly gone down by himself, but he felt the need to see Paige.  When they entered the restaurant, they were led to a small table for two.  As Paige began perusing the menu, Donovan picked up his and then paused when he heard a couple of familiar voices.  His curiosity getting the better of him, he excused himself and made his way around to a spot nearest the voices.  He didn't come out far enough for them to see him, but he waited.  He nodded.  Yes.  He definitely recognized the voices.  Cody and Larkin.  Donovan turned and moved toward the bathroom.  He turned the cold water on full blast and splashed his face several times.  An emotion had attacked him viciously for a moment.  What was it?  Jealousy?

"Hey Boss, I didn't know you were here," Cody said as he entered the bathroom.

Donovan rose up and dried off his face.  He glanced at Cody.  How awkward.  Donovan didn't say anything at first.  Instead, he nodded.  After he tossed away the damp paper towels, he asked pointedly, "Are you here alone?"

"Naw," he said, "I dragged Selena along."

_Selena.  How comfy.  _"Agent Larkin?"

Cody noted the dark, severe way he said 'Agent Larkin.'  _Whoa.  The boss is jealous.  I didn't know it had gone that far_.  "Yeah.  She was a little down, so thought I'd bring her here to pep her up.  I love this place.  Are you here alone?  If so, why don't you come out and join us?"

Donovan balked.  "No.  I see enough of Agent Larkin at the nest."  Without a word, he left the bathroom, hoping that neither Larkin nor Cody would find him with Paige.

Cody went back to the table and noticed that Larkin was tearing into a basket of bread sticks.  "Ran into the boss in the bathroom," he said distractedly, waiting to gauge her reaction.

She looked up and bit viciously into a bread stick.  "Good for him.  I hope he drowned."

He smiled a little and wanted to laugh out loud, but he was afraid Larkin might hit him with a bread stick.  He didn't need flecks of garlic in his eyes.  He didn't understand why they didn't just let it out.     

**____________________**

**To be continued…**


	10. Surrender

SURRENDER

Grant was running late for work one morning and knew that when she arrived, the man who considered himself her boss would bitch her out good.  She had tried putting on the charm, perhaps seducing him, but nothing she did worked.  Turned out the prick was married and one of those choirboys devoted to his wife and children.  Nothing she did swayed him and it was quite disappointing.  Most of the other people around her were women and she wasn't into alternative lifestyles.  She had lost count of the number of notes she'd sent Martel.  He hadn't made one move toward taking her seriously.  What would happen if she just walked up to the fucker?  She knew where he worked and it could be easily arranged.  However, she wasn't quite stupid enough to do that.  If she came within five feet of Martel, he would most assuredly kill her this time.  It didn't matter anyway.  Her 'friendship' with Paige Harrison was well established.  They had gone out more than once for drinks, especially when her fiancé was busy doing something else [which was almost nightly].  She remembered one night in particular.  Harrison had one drink too much and wondered aloud if her husband to be was trying to ditch her.  The moment she realized the words were out of her mouth, she waved them off and changed the subject.  Grant smiled inwardly about that.  She had seen Harrison and Martel together, sometimes following them, but staying well out of the way.  Martel wasn't stupid.  His instincts would tell him if he was being followed.  When they were together, it seemed as if Martel was less than enthused with Harrison, but the poor oblivious girl didn't seem to have a clue.  Perhaps she did, but didn't want to see it.  Whatever.  Soon enough, the truth would be revealed and the wedding ruined.  It was all she wanted for now.  The rest would come later.  Her next project would be revealing his identity to his agents, finally giving them the information they so desperately sought.  

When she made her way into the building, she ducked her boss quite efficiently and went over to her small, stuffy office.  Grant immediately noticed that Harrison was busily working in the main archive room.  Harrison had yet to notice her.  She honestly didn't want to communicate with the weak bitch, but she knew she had to do it.  After all, she was her 'best buddy' now.  Shrugging away her disgust, she popped out of her office, mindful of the boss lurking about, and stepped into the doorway of the expansive room.  Harrison was working furiously at putting away several files at once.  Why in the hell was she working so manically?  God, she hated people who worked like that.  They made folks like her look bad.

"Hey, Paige," Grant called, "you look like you're possessed."

Paige stopped for a moment and turned.  She smiled a little.  "Well, I'm trying to get as much done by noon as I can.  Frank and I have an appointment at one."

Inside, Grant was mocking her.  Outside, a smile came across her wide mouth and her dimples deepened even more.  "Ah, explains the whirlwind.  So, what's on the schedule today?  The wedding is what…four weeks away?"

Harrison nodded.  "Yeah, about that.  We're going for the final fittings and then I hope I can persuade my stubborn fiancé to loosen up and stay home for the rest of the day.  I haven't seen much of him lately.  He's been busy doing something, but he's not one to chat about his projects."

_I'll bet he isn't_.  _He's not one to chat about his true identity, either.  Is he_?  She wanted to poke around Donovan, find out what he was doing.  Was it something naughty?  She honestly hoped it was.  It would only serve as more fuel for her fire.  _Is that strain I see behind that veneer of happiness?  You're smiling, showing your teeth, but it isn't quite reaching your eyes, now is it?  What's ol' Martel doing to you, honey?_

*  *  *

Larkin had locked herself in the bathroom.  She and Donovan had been at each other's throats for the last month.  It was to the point where she couldn't stand to look at him for five seconds at a time [_…and those five seconds are the best five seconds of your life_].  Today, they had disagreed about something very, very trivial.  Honestly, she couldn't remember what it was.  Against her wishes [of course, he wouldn't have it any other way], Donovan had sent Alex in to poke around.  She couldn't go in UC, of course, because Grant knew about them all.  If she saw her too often or in a position at the office, she would immediately know someone was onto her.  Larkin was the only one in the little group that Grant didn't know about yet, but Donovan refused to send her in.  _Have you ever gone UC, Larkin?  I don't think so.  IA agents aren't known for their undercover work.  They spend most of their time hiding behind a mask and a computer screen_.  Oh that had been utterly cold and vicious.  She was completely tempted to remind him about _his_ mask.  However, that was Grant's game and she didn't play that way.  Although Donovan pissed her off on a daily basis, she couldn't truly hurt him.

Since the out of control kiss almost a month prior, nothing of the sort had happened like that again [_…don't like that…nope…sure don't_].  However, Donovan was merciless with her.  There was little she could do right, including breathing.  _You see what he's doing, don't you?  He's trying to drive you away.  He doesn't want you here, not because he sees you as a hindrance, but because of something else_.  She shook her head.  No, not very damn likely.  _Hello, Jane.  He has a fiancée.  Their wedding is coming up shortly_.  She had inadvertently discovered the wedding date one evening as she prepared to go back to the hotel.  Ironically enough, Donovan had parked close to her car.  When she entered the structure, she heard him speaking to someone on his cell phone.  Ducking back and away [_…who says I can't go UC_], she listened to the conversation, all the while feeling like a heel.  _Paige, for God's sake_, he began_.  The wedding isn't until December twelfth.  We have an entire month to finish that_.  Whatever the fiancée had been complaining about, Donovan finally relented and hung up.  She thought he had walked on, but when she stood, she saw him.  She wanted to duck out of sight, but her curiosity got the better of her.  Donovan stood behind his car with his hands planted firmly on the trunk.  He was irritated, the kind of irritation he normally reserved especially for her.  Amazed, he began to grumble, his words loud and completely understandable.  _This is not right.  Why can't I say anything to her?  I will not make it; I know this, if I don't do something now, it will be too late_.  She ducked quickly and then heard a distinct sound.  He whacked the trunk of his car and spat out an indignant curse.

_Screw it_, she thought.  She groused for a good ten minutes before she heard a knock at the door.  "What do you want," she shouted.  "It's occupied."

"Selena, it's Monica.  Mind letting me in?"

Well, at least it wasn't Donovan [_…damn it_].  She sighed and moved toward the door.  After unlocking it, she walked away and leaned against the sink.  Monica entered the bathroom and saw Larkin with her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest.  When she made moves toward checking on the young agent, Donovan had basically told Monica to let Larkin have her tantrum in peace.  Monica had shaken her head and began chewing at her lips.  _Sure, Boss.  I'm a profiler, a behaviorist, and you think **I** don't see it?_  

"Sometimes you have to ignore him," Monica told her.  "He can be abrasive, but then I suppose you've seen your fair share of that, haven't you?"

Larkin rolled her eyes and huffed.  "What the hell kind of big ass bug does he have up his ass?  I could about strangle him if I could reach his damn neck.  If he would listen to me, I'd fix this and get the hell out of here, but he is caught up in this command mode.  God, I can't stand him."

_Sure you can't.  I think you've forgotten what I do, too_.  "Yeah, he's well immersed in that 'I'm never wrong' mode.  Take your time.  Donovan won't complain too much, and if he does, I'll handle it."

"Let him complain.  If he doesn't like it, I have a shoe that could just about fit in his mouth."

When she finally came out of the bathroom, it appeared that Donovan was making ready to leave.  She noticed it was only around noon.  _Hmm…another meeting with his girl?  _Larkin was tempted to follow him, to see what they were doing.  His wedding was close and she didn't know how she felt about that.  She knew she didn't like it.  _Jane, why in the hell are you even thinking this way?  I don't care.  I don't give a shit and I shouldn't act like I do, because this insensitive prick asshole probably knows I truly do_.  She stood back and watched him leave, tempted to call him back.  There were a few truths he needed to be told, but she didn't know if she should be the one to do it or not.

*  *  *

It was midnight and Donovan lay in bed wide-awake and wired up.  He had gotten through a final tux fitting and Paige then began arranging for rehearsals and such.  They had one month to wait, but would it all be ready in time?  He couldn't pretend any longer.  He didn't want the wedding, the fuss, the muss, and wasn't sure he actually wanted Paige anymore.  Yet, it was much too late to back out now.  How long had Paige stuck with him?  Three years?  How could he let another woman and a few jitters tear that up?  _You only want to go through with this because you think you owe her.  Four weeks.  It's enough time to break away clean before you do something to betray her_.  Damn it.  He couldn't sleep.  Donovan slipped out of bed.  He needed to take a walk.  Perhaps after a long mind-clearing walk, he'd be fine.  He stepped out into the cold night air and put his feet in motion.  Kira Grant was right on his tail.

_What the hell is he doing out this late?  Where the hell is he going?_  Grant didn't follow on foot.  She went back to her car and intended to do it the easy [and warmer] way.  When Donovan reached his destination, Grant saw this, and smiled.  _Cozy_.  _What do we have here?_

Larkin had just gathered some things to take with her for her shower when she heard a knock on the door.  Jesus.  What now?  She took her things into the bathroom anyway and allowed her late night visitor to wait.  Whoever it was could damn well give her enough time to get settled.  Before opening the door, she stood on her tiptoes and peeked out.  She sighed and rolled her eyes.  Frank goddamn Donovan.  She swung open the door and glared at him.  Didn't he abuse her enough during the day?  Did he want to get his jollies at night as well?  _Slam the door.  Shut him out; don't let him in, because if you do, something **will **happen.  Hasn't it been building up to this for a couple of weeks now?_  

"What do you want," she demanded.  "It's past midnight."

"If you'll let me in, I'll tell you," he said sedately.

"The door's open, isn't it?"  She stood back and watched him enter the room.  Once again, he was clad in a jogging suit and athletic shoes.  She slammed the door and turned to face him.  "You're in, so let's have it."

It was his turn to sigh.  "I've not been exactly nice to you lately," he began.  He chewed on his bottom lip for the briefest of moments.  "I've been under a massive amount of stress and I've probably taken out a fair share of it on you."

Larkin immediately noticed that his stance and demeanor were distinctly different than was normal.  He was tired, and she hadn't seen him like this.  She shrugged.  "Sure, the closer a wedding is, the more stressful it becomes."  _Ooops, told off on myself._

Confused, he glanced at her.  "How do you know that?"

_Gulp.  Oh shit.  You are in so much trouble, Jane_.  "I've heard stuff here and there," she admitted, her face reddening the slightest bit.  

Angered now, he balled his fists at his side.  "You've been following me," he asked incredulously.

She rolled her eyes again.  "You wish.  No, I haven't been following you.  I've just heard things accidentally.  It's not like you've been exactly quiet when you're away from your team.  I heard you in the garage a couple of times, not on purpose.  I wouldn't follow you."

_How much has she heard?  This is incredibly awkward now.  What to do?  _"Nosy, aren't you," he accused.

"Do you think I care what you and your fiancée do?  Can I help it if my sense of timing is off balance?  Just for the record, though, I think you should break it off."

His confused gaze turned quickly to rage.  His lips drew up into a snarl.  "What the hell kind of nerve do you have to suggest something like that?  You are once again treading on very, very thin ice, Agent Larkin."

"Touched a nerve, did I," she asked lightly.  "What I've heard, which has been little, is that of a man caught in a trap of which there is no escape.  For a man whose wedding is about a month away, you don't seem very damn happy.  Even if your feelings were stress derived, wouldn't you still be painfully happy?  Goofy, perhaps?  I see none of that in you.  In fact, I've seen and heard nothing more than exasperation, and it's not the kind that comes from an overwhelmed man.  It's more along the lines of one too stubborn to admit he's not truly in love anymore, if he was in the first place."

"Larkin, I suggest you shut up, and do it now," he said through clenched teeth.  

She shook her head.  "Hell no, I'm not going to shut up.  You've gotten your licks in at me.  Isn't it my turn?  Who else can tell you the truth?  Not your team, because they don't even know about Paige.  Wake up, Frank, wake up and think about it.  Her hair, her eyes, who does it make you think of?  You don't love this woman at all, you just think you do.  You only want to marry her because you think you owe her.  You're holding onto an illusion, one that will fade the moment she wears your wedding ring and you see her for who she truly is.  You're trying to recapture a moment that you can never relive again.  Your record is impeccable; you are strong, efficient, and brutal in your work.  You know exactly what you're doing and where you're going.  It doesn't extend into your private life because you can't let go of a fantasy.  You are living a lie."

Entirely confused now, Donovan didn't know whether to thank her or scream at her.  Had he come here knowing that this would happen?  He tried to tell himself that he only came by to apologize for terrorizing her for the last few weeks, but that wasn't exactly the truth.  She was right.  She was the only person who would tell him what he really _needed_ to hear but couldn't face.  Of course, he wouldn't stand for it.  "As I've said before, Larkin, you know nothing other than what you read."

"Whatever, you bastard.  Just get out, I'm sick of you," she said angrily.

She wasn't.  He could sense that, he could sense that as plainly as he sensed her knowing certain truths about his life that he couldn't admit.  She was no more sicker of him than he was of her.  The only thing he was sick of was pushing her away.  The line had been drawn weeks ago, but tonight, he crossed over it.  When she saw him approaching, she moved to the door almost immediately.  She had barely touched the handle before she felt the heat of his body against her.  Larkin moved to open the door, but Donovan grabbed her hand first.

"No," he said softly, his voice drifting down toward her.

She felt a rush of tingles entering the pit of her stomach and branching up to her chest before subsiding.  His grip on her hand was soft and light.  _What does he want?  What is he doing_?  Duh.  God.  She was afraid to look at him.  What would she see in his eyes or his demeanor?  What if it wasn't what she expected to see?  She released her hold on the door handle, but he didn't let go of her hand.  He was working toward turning her to face him and she closed her eyes.  She didn't want to see, didn't want to look.  It didn't matter.  He looked and saw.  Her eyes remained tightly closed, even when she felt his lips on hers.  The height difference was a little awkward, so the moment she felt his hand drifting to her buttocks, she made a sudden move and wrapped her legs around him.  Face-to-face now, he held onto her tightly as he pinned her body to the door, making an audible noise, eliciting a grunt from Larkin that was buried in the kiss.

Not quite breaking the kiss, he began to move her away from the door.  She felt her body drifting further and further away from the point of no return.  She knew of nothing but his lips, probing tongue, and nipping teeth, didn't have an utter clue as to where she was going until her back hit the bed.  Gently, he ran his fingers along her side, creeping them up slowly toward the side swell of her breast.  Without releasing her lips once, his hand landed perfectly onto her left breast as if he were more than familiar with her body.  His thumb brushed against the top of it, hardening the nipple immediately, causing it to strain desperately against her shirt.  Although ending the kiss was something he was in no hurry to do, he broke it and tripped his lips lightly over her chin before barely grazing the arch of her throat.  A sound escaped her [_uh_] as his teeth grazed the nipple that he had aroused with the slightest of touches.  Her shirt still covered it.  Good God, what would happen to her when it was off?  When his lips stopped at the bottom edge of her shirt, he worked his hands beneath it, settling them just above the point where her waist began.  As he slid his hands along her sides, the shirt moved up with them.  Tons of chill bumps formed under his heated touch, but he was moving so painstakingly slow, that she was tempted to help him along.  He had barely gotten the shirt past her breasts when she raised her arms over her head, eager to have done with it.  Once it was discarded, she finally felt his lips and tongue on her flesh, not outside a thin cotton shirt.  She couldn't move.  Immobile.  She was completely immobile.

Soft little sounds were leaving her, drilling into his brain, giving him an indication that it just might be time to stop and move on.  He left a trail of moist kisses all along her ribs and abdomen as he rid her of the shorts she wore as pajama bottoms.  His hands again left chill bumps on her body as he moved them along the sides of her hips, down her legs, and then to her feet.  He placed gentle kisses, followed by nipping bites, up one leg.  After a long, long trip down her tiny body, his lips found hers again.  She turned to her side, facing him, and she felt his hands moving along her back, then down to her buttocks.  She was nude before him, but he was still fully dressed.  Before breaking away, she took hold of the zipper on his jacket and began pulling it down.  He had no shirt on under it and she was profoundly grateful.  Her fingers slid along the expanse of his chest and wandered over the firm, taut flesh down to his abdomen.  He took her hand at that point and drew it away.  _He's ticklish_.  He broke away from her lips for a moment as he stripped out of his jacket and kicked off his shoes.  He had barely had time to move back toward her when she sat up and took hold of the sweat pants.  This was taking too damn long.  She wanted them off and wanted them off _now_.

Although she'd die rather than admit it, she had imagined him naked a dozen times.  However, no fantasy that she had ever had compared to the real deal.  He was some type of sacred God with a perfect body marred only by battle scars.  His body was long, lean, and muscular, but not so muscular that it was a turn off.  He was no muscle head.  Then there was the matter of the male part of him.  Jesus Christ.  Her lips didn't quite touch it, but they moved over his abdomen and back up to his chest.  He took hold of her head gently to raise it up toward his.  What else was there to say?  What else to do?  Speaking would only shatter it, ruin it.  He kissed her gently, keeping one hand in her hair while the other moved lightly down her body once again.  Her body was so small, yet every inch a woman's body, soft, supple and glorious.  He deepened the kiss just as his hand fell upon her gently, stroking her as if he were stroking the breast of a noble bird.  She moaned a little, desperate to draw away but he wouldn't release her, not until he was certain she wouldn't stop him.  She sighed tremblingly and held her body completely still.  At that point, he released her lips and she buried the side of her face in his throat, the top of her head just under his chin.  He increased the pressure, the intensity of the touch, his fingers occasionally slipping inside.  

She let out a shaky breath as his hand finally drew away.  She felt the slight shift of his body and could clearly feel his hardness against her, demanding entrance.  As he moved, she opened her mouth and let out a breath.  "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," she whispered.

He looked down into her eyes.  "Selena?"  _God.  Don't tell me she's denying me now… in this stage._

"I…I haven't told you…I've not…"

Without her saying another word, he immediately knew.  "We don't have to do this.  I can leave any time you want, right now," he said.

"No," she said, her arms going around him, "I want you to stay.  I want you to make love to me."

"You're sure?  I don't want to push…"

"I'm sure," she told him.                     

He wanted to ask again, to clarify that she truly wanted him to be her first, but what other words did he need?  What else was necessary?  She wanted to give him the ultimate gift and he would accept it, he would accept it and hold it dear.  He kissed her again, very gently, and after it was broken, he brought her leg up against him.  She closed her eyes tightly as she felt the tip of him touching her, easing into her ever so slowly.  He felt the resistance of her flesh as it began to accept an object it was clearly not accustomed to accepting.  He pressed on gently and he heard a soft cry against his chest.  Why did such a beautiful act come with a price of pain and tears?  As her tight flesh slowly began to accommodate him little by little, the urge to lose control was great, but he held back.  He didn't want to hurt her any more than he had to, never wanted to hurt her, period.  Fully inside her now, he moved ever so slowly, knowing that after the initial entrance, the pain would subside to a dull ache that would become intense pleasure.  Against him, she sighed softly, feeling the discomfort edging away.  She could sense he wanted more, wanted to press forward madly.  

"It's okay," she sighed, "Please.  It's okay."

"You're sure?"

"Please."

His movements increased in tempo the slightest bit.  No matter how 'okay' it was, he wouldn't push too far.  There would be other times [_…would there_].  The ache inside her changed to delicious friction and her body began to instinctively meet his as if she had made love to him many, many times.  His hands, cupping her buttocks, released and squeezed, released and squeezed with each timeless move of their bodies.  He heard the cries against his neck, felt the quivering inside her, and his control snapped ever so slightly.  Had he ever imagined it could feel like this?  She called out his name, ending the call with a strangled cry of intense pleasure, and she tightened her hold on him, digging her fingers into his flesh.  He wanted this to last all night, all morning, and up into the next day.  However, it was inevitable it would end.  Human biology and physiology could not be stopped.  For a moment, she felt the movements cease and a hissed sigh escaped him.  She cried out a little when he managed a few final thrusts, harder than all the rest.  His hold on her body tightened ever so slightly.  He didn't want to move, to breathe, not for the rest of the night, not ever again.

**____________________**

**To be continued…**    

     


	11. Interesting Developments

INTERESTING DEVELOPMENTS

Donovan had dropped off to sleep, completely unaware of the time, what day it was, or anything.  The bed was alien as was the room and the feel of the body beside him.  Everything was different, yet so wonderful.  Of course, he had yet to deal with the reality of the situation.  He moved and heard a soft murmur emitting from the woman lying against him.  When she came awake little by little, she snuggled even closer to him.  A moment after that, her lips traced a neat line along his throat and up his scruffy jaw line.  Before long, her mouth found his and he kissed her deeply, his hands plunging into her hair.  For a month or longer, he had denied her every step of the way.  She was so much more in line with what he wanted than Paige.  He broke the kiss and studied her beautiful face in the dark.  Her eyes, which for all purposes were a cold, barren color, shimmered with a light he had never seen before.  He wanted nothing more than to stay with her, make love to her again and again.  What she had shared with him, what she had given him, was something no other woman before her had done.  Why _him_?  Why _now_?  

"Are you okay," he asked.

"Mmm, I'm great," she said.  

He ran his hand along her face, tracing a line made by her hair.  "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she said, "well, maybe a little, but I lived through it," she said with a smile.

"Selena, how did you manage to…"

She laughed a little.  "Think about it, Frank.  I was fifteen when I started college, jailbait to most of the guys who were my classmates.  When I graduated, there was little time for anything else.  I've had men in my life, but I never felt the need to really make love with anyone."

It was a reasonable explanation, but he was still intrigued and curious.  "So, why me?"

"I don't know how to answer that, but I can say I wanted you.  I've wanted you a long time, but your private life is a bit complicated and I didn't want to intrude."

She had told him more about himself and his relationship with Paige than he had ever realized on his own.  What, exactly, was she intruding in?  He had a wedding scheduled to occur in a month, but he was no longer sure of anything.  Could he break off the engagement and cancel the wedding at this juncture?  Larkin hadn't intruded, she had saved him from himself, but there was something else creeping into his heart and mind.  It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in months.  Fear.  If he released his hold on Paige and let himself go with Larkin, what would happen?  He thought he loved Paige, but he didn't.  Despite the number of times he told her, he hadn't ever loved Paige, hadn't ever felt it truly in his heart.  She was a comfortable substitute for Taryn.  He had never tried to date anyone else, had never looked at anyone else.  Larkin had entered the picture and touched him in some way that he didn't quite understand.  Could he let go?  _Could he_?  Did he want to take a chance?  She was waiting to hear him tell her that his private life was no longer complicated.  She wanted to hear that he didn't just take her to bed due to lusty need.  The words she wanted to hear, he could not say, and he knew she wouldn't pressure him to say it.  He wanted to think that tonight was a mistake, that he shouldn't have come here at all, but he knew it wasn't true.  None of it was, not one single bit.  Selena Larkin wouldn't throw a fit, have a temper tantrum, or whine, or cuss, or fight.  She would offer absolutely no ultimatums.  All she wanted to do was give him her heart.  She had asked so very little of him and what would he give her in return?  There was little he could do or say at that moment, but he had never felt so low or so disgusted with himself.  He knew what he should do, knew it as well as he knew his name [_F. Chase Martel_], but had no idea if he could follow through.  Fearless in his work, he was, but in his heart, never.  

*  *  *

The moment Donovan entered the apartment, he expected to see Paige waiting up for him, but she wasn't.  When he noticed the time, he sighed heavily.  The alarm clock would begin screaming before he made it fully into the bedroom.  He couldn't avoid her all morning.  Instead of running away like some pussy jerk, he entered the bedroom and began the task of undressing.  He could literally smell Larkin's perfume all over him.  It wouldn't be difficult for Paige to discern it.  _Tell her, goddamn it.  Tell her where you were.  Tell her the truth.  You don't love her, you don't want to marry her, you want to end this while both of you are still sane.  The proof of your relationship status is in what you did tonight.  Think about it.  _He stripped out of the jogging suit and tossed it into the hamper.  Today, he had no energy to run.  _Sure, you bastard, you got all the exercise you needed with Selena, didn't you?  _He started the shower and climbed in before the water had gotten even slightly warm.  He hardly noticed the shock when the cold water hit him.  He had spent a good portion of the night in bed with another woman and he came back to one he didn't love anymore.  He thought he'd made his decision about what to do as soon as he walked through the door.  Frank Donovan had been a risk taker his entire life, but it never extended into his heart, it never did.  What would he say to Larkin when he saw her later?  

He came out of the shower, absently wrapping a towel around his waist.  He wasn't ready to face Paige just yet.  She would have questions for him and he didn't think he could lie to her.  In fact, he _wanted _her to ask, _ached_ for her to do it.  When he opened the bathroom door, Paige had just risen from bed.  Last night before he left, she had donned one of his shirts and had slept in it.  This morning, she still had it on.  She yawned and stretched dramatically.  She didn't immediately turn toward him.  He stepped out into the bedroom and opened the closet door.  _Please ask me.  Ask me where I was.  Open your mouth and say something, Paige_.  The question never came.  She moved toward the bathroom and closed the door behind her.  _Shit_.  She wouldn't ask because she _knew_.  Some how, some way, she _knew_.  Silently, he dug out his clothing and took his time getting dressed.  He wanted her to come out and he was giving her more than her fair share of chances.  She wasn't taking any of them.  When he finished dressing, Paige was still in the bathroom.  She would not come out until he walked out the door.  Growling stubbornly, he left and made his way toward the nest.  There was one confused woman likely awaiting him.

He felt like a coward as he entered the building [_…you are a coward, a fucking coward_] and hit the lights.  His foot connected with an envelope that had been dropped carelessly on the floor.  He immediately recognized it as being from the vicious Grant bitch.  _Well, hello there, Martel.  Did you miss me?  I certainly missed you.  I wrote this note a few moments ago and dropped it off after I saw a very curious thing.  You slipped into a hotel around midnight or so, but didn't come back out until four or five this morning.  Could you be cheating on your little fiancée?  Incredible.  I didn't take you for a philanderer.  Or are you even one of those yet?  So, there are two secrets that you're holding from Paige, your true identity and the fact that you're fucking someone else behind her back.  Shame on you, Martel.  I never thought you'd cheat like that.  You're turning out to be a man after my own heart._  He was tempted to shred it, but had to hold onto it for Larkin.  Regardless of what happened, he wanted the bitch to suffer and for that, they needed evidence.  

The walls were caving in on him slowly, suffocating him achingly slow.  Two women had him trapped, both blackmailing him for different reasons.  This needed to end before he marched over to the DOJ and blew Grant away.  Life in prison had to be better than this hell.  He went straight to his office and put the note away for later.  They were the only items not shown to the rest of the team.  This would never see the light of day, not after Larkin saw it.  Larkin.  What would he do with her?  How would he talk to her?  How would he tell her that nothing in his life had changed?  Too many complications, too much going on.  He dug around in his desk until he found a bottle of aspirin.  He shook four into his hand and popped them into his mouth.  Instead of swallowing them, he crunched them up, grimacing at the bitter taste.  He had to face her.  He had to face everyone.  After a few moments, he heard someone else entering.  He knew it would be Larkin; there was no use in trying to believe it would be anyone else.  When he heard the steady clopping noise, he didn't have to wonder further.  He wasn't ready to face her just yet, but he couldn't be a coward his entire life.  

The moment she settled her eyes on him, he immediately reminded her of the Donovan she had known before last night.  He was tense and out of sorts.  If she touched him, he might strike out.  She stood near the exit with her arms behind her back.  She knew he was aware of her presence.  Larkin immediately sensed that she was heading toward an outrageous let down, but she couldn't help it.  She had to know the deal, especially after what he had said and shown her.  She noticed another envelope and a sheet of notepaper before him.  Expecting the worse, she approached the front of his desk and reached over for the note.  He didn't make one move.  He held his head in his hands and kept his eyes covered.  If she didn't see his chest rising and falling, she would have sworn he was dead.  Before she dragged the note toward her, he moved suddenly, covering her hand with his.  Startled, she looked up at him and gasped.

"She knows," he said in a flat, emotionless voice.

At first, she thought he was talking about Paige, but by the look on his face, that wasn't exactly the case.  "_Who_ knows _what_?"

"Grant.  She knows what happened last night and she intends to use it."

_What's so damn bad about that?_  "And," she began as if waiting for some awesome punch line.

"_And_?  All you can say is _and_?"

The asshole had reemerged and she didn't understand why.  What had she done?  "What?  I don't get it."

Donovan bit his lip, ready to spin an incredible lie, one so brutal and vicious that he would never forgive himself.  "Last night was a mistake.  It never should have happened.  I was swept away and it got too far too fast."

"Who the hell are you," she cried.  "Just who the hell are you?  You're not the same person you were less than twenty-four hours ago.  Which one of you is the asshole?  Chase or Frank?  Which one of you was in bed with me?  A mistake?  You consider what happened a mistake?  It didn't _feel _like it.  Why did you bother?  Why?"  When he had nothing to say, she leaned over his desk and got right in his face.  "If you think for one minute I'm going to scream, cry, or beg you to give me one last mercy fuck, you're sadly mistaken."  

He watched as she turned away and clopped toward the short staircase.  Hit bit hard into his lip to prevent calling out for her to come back.  _I made the only mistake last night, and that was leaving you._  _Fuck it.  _He came out and scanned the room for Larkin, but couldn't see her.  She had left, probably for good, and he didn't blame her.  _Who's the asshole?  Chase or Frank?  All of the above, Selena, I'm sorry_.  Little did he know, but Larkin hadn't gone anywhere.  She stood outside taking deep breaths, trying to calm down, trying to get a handle on her emotions.  Regardless of anything, she was a professional and couldn't let her mind drift away from her duty.  As soon as Grant was safely and completely out of the picture, she would never have to see this place again.  Jesus.  Her stomach ached so badly that she thought she might die right then and there.  She thought she could control it, but as soon as the bile began to rise, she gave up.  In one hot spurt, everything she had eaten for the past two days came up in a rush.

A little green around the gills, Larkin came back inside as soon as other people began to drift in.  She couldn't be alone with Donovan right away.  If so, she would fix him where he would never father a child.  She stood back and away from the asshole, ensuring that she didn't meet his gaze once.  She wanted to move on Grant today, she was tired of waiting, tired of taking the route Donovan wanted to go.  Larkin waited until Donovan was out of ear and eyeshot before she leaned over Cody's shoulder.  Grant knew everyone in this room except her.  She hadn't ever seen her up close and personal outside that brief run-in at the DOJ.  Donovan hadn't wanted her to go in, but he wasn't making the rules anymore.  She followed her own lead and didn't give a shit.

"Wire me, Cody," she said, ensuring that her voice drifted just enough to fall in his ear.  "Wire me and let me go."

"Selena, are you sure that's a good idea?  The boss…"

"Fuck him," she said bitterly.  "He's not my boss.  Hook me up so I can go in.  If he asks where I am, lie.  I'm tired of waiting and I want to go home."

Larkin dashed out of the room before Donovan reappeared.  He immediately missed Larkin's presence.  "Where is Agent Larkin?"

Cody turned.  God.  He hated lying to the boss.  All it took for a swift confession was one harsh look.  "She…ah…stepped out."

"Stepped out where," he demanded.  Neither Cody nor Monica said a word.  "Goddamn it," he growled.  "Did she go to the DOJ?  _Did she_?"  He didn't wait for Cody to stammer another answer.  Instead, he took off after Larkin.

Larkin made her way to the tall building, determined to go up to the third floor to confront Grant.  This had to end while she had a scrap of sanity.  Just as she stepped onto the elevator, Donovan whipped through the revolving door and missed her by a mere few minutes.  He didn't bother waiting for the elevator.  He took the stairs two at a time and made it before the elevator.  The instant it opened, he slipped inside and hit the button to close the door.

"Are you insane, Selena," he asked.

"No, I'm not, but I have a few suspicions regarding _your _sanity, Agent Donovan.  I want this over.  I want Grant gone so I can get out of here and never lay eyes on your face again.  Before you start yelling at your agents, this was _my_ idea."

"What the hell are you trying to prove?  You said it yourself; you didn't want her to know about you so she wouldn't run away.  Don't fuck up this case because of what happened last night."  

At the nest, Cody and Monica exchanged a look, both asking the same question:  _what **did** happen last night?_

"As if you could distract me.  I'm not a stupid bimbo, Donovan.  I don't get swept away in emotion and sex."

Cody and Monica mouthed together:  _emotion and sex?_

"Jesus," Larkin cried.  "I'm fucking wired."

Donovan growled and rolled his eyes.  Wired.  So much for a private conversation.  "Terrific."

The moment the elevator car stopped, Donovan took Larkin by the arm and led her toward the exit.  On one end of the hall, Grant observed them.  On the other, Paige had caught sight of them.  Both women noted that they were arguing intensely.  Grant smiled while Paige frowned.  Both women had the same thought rushing through their minds:  _this must be his distraction_.

When the two of them entered the nest, Donovan fixed his eyes on Monica and Cody.  "I think the two of you should leave.  Agent Larkin and I have a few issues to discuss."  He was actually daring them to mention the conversation they had overheard.  How many other people would know by day's end?  After they left, Donovan led Larkin up to his office and sat her down.  He noticed the recording device clipped to the inside of her top.  Without asking her permission, he reached over and tore it off.  "Don't do that again.  That was the worse mistake you've made since coming here."

"Wrong.  The worse mistake I made was letting you come into my room.  You don't have charge of this case anymore.  I'm taking it out of your hands.  I didn't need you then and I don't need you now.  As soon as I get a call through to my superiors, I'll have your duties stripped away faster than you can blink.  I'm not staying here any longer than the end of this month.  I can't be here in…"  She stopped.  _Oh no no no, don't even go there._

"December," he finished for her.  "Believe me, I don't want you here in December," he said, the tone of his voice immediately changing.

"And Dr. Jeckyll emerges again," she said softly.

He looked down at her so very vulnerable, so hurt and cheated.  "Selena…"

She stood to remove her body from such close proximity to his.  "Oh hell no.  Don't start that shit.  It helped you get into my pants once, but I don't think it'll help again."  She moved closer to the exit, actually backing away so she could watch every step he took.  One false move and she would he his for the taking.  

Of course, his legs were much longer and he closed the distance in a few steps.  He took hold of her arm; it was exactly what he had done last night.  _Break away, break away and get the fuck out of here_.  She couldn't.  She couldn't go anywhere without his leading her.  He captured her lips and kissed her hard and brutally, needing her, needing the taste of her again.  Once again, her legs went around him.  Once again, he took her away from the safety of an exit.  Her buttocks landed on the hard edge of his desk and she felt him lowering her to it, his body moving over hers.  Oh God oh God oh God, she kept telling herself she didn't want this, but she couldn't drive him away.  Realizing where he was, he drew away from her for the briefest of moments.  

"We can't do this," he whispered harshly.  She prepared herself for the rejection to follow, but he repeated it again and added two other words, "We can't do this…not here."

Back in her hotel room, back where they had made love the first time, he took her down to the bed.  No time for touching.  No time to think.  Guiding her astride him, he entered her deeply.  The first time had introduced her to intense physical pleasure, the second to complete and total selfishness.  She thought of nothing, no one, only herself and the man underneath her.

Later, Larkin looked up at Donovan as he dressed without saying a word.  She had yet to move off the bed.  Mr. Hyde had reappeared the instant he realized what he had done.  "What am I to you?"

He heard the question plainly, understood every single word, but he couldn't answer her.  She was a lot to him, but could he tell her?  What greater purpose would it serve?  Damn it.  He was treating her like shit, as if she were a piece on the side.  She wasn't.  "Selena, you're…"  He stopped.  God.  How could he explain it?  

"Okay, here we go again," she said impatiently.  "_Go_."

He turned toward her.  "Selena let me…I'm trying to tell you."

"No you're not," she said, hurt dripping from every word.  "I refuse to be some girl on the side.  Go.  I can't look at you."

"I won't go until you listen," he insisted.  "Please…"

"Go, just get out.  I don't want to hear it and I don't want you here."  

He wanted to stay, had even reached out for her, but she kicked out with her leg, her foot connecting with his side.  What he needed to say should have been said the night before.  It was too late.  She'd never listen to him now.

**____________________**

**To be continued…**  

                  


	12. Complications

COMPLICATIONS

Two weeks had passed.  Two painstakingly bitter weeks.  Larkin had not gotten what she wanted.  The moment she contacted her superiors, she was bitched out but good for running off half-cocked.  At that point, her worst fear was realized.  Donovan was officially given control of the assignment in _both_ areas.  Within his group, there were no jurisdiction restrictions.  It was November, the day after Thanksgiving, and the lead asshole had called a special meeting.  Why in the hell was it taking so damn long to move on this bitch?  Larkin would never know.  Did Donovan simply _want_ to be exposed?  Was that it?  She wasn't listening to anyone in the group, not really.  She stood between Cody and Monica with her arms crossed, but she couldn't hear a word Donovan was saying.  How many times in fourteen days had he tried to talk to her?  Too many.  He had tried to come to her at her hotel, but she would never consent to see him.  It was completely too risky.  If he came inside, she would give into him easily.  One thing she refused to do was become someone's little chippie, a woman on standby when a man grew bored with his girlfriend.  If he was so sincere, if he wanted to make it up to her, then why the hell was he still engaged?  His wedding was two weeks away and she had no desire to be here when it happened, even if it meant that she had to leave town for the weekend.  As Donovan's voice droned on and on, she tried to pay attention, because it was actually important.  If the words could come out of anyone else's mouth, she would have preferred it, but it was obvious that Donovan wanted to have the biggest balls of the bunch.  When he finally shut his mouth, Larkin decided to get out for some air because the atmosphere inside was completely stifling.

"Would you talk to me," a voice suddenly asked from beside her.

Dr. Jeckyll.  Fighting desperately, she kept her eyes averted from his face.  "That's what your fiancée is for, Donovan.  Talk to her.  I have nothing to say to you."

"I'm not going through with it," he said.  "I can't."

Those eight words brought her courage back.  She fixed her eyes on his face and drew her lips into a snarl.  Her eyes were vicious and hard.  "Hoorah for you.  That might have mattered to me two weeks ago.  Today, it means nothing."  She wasted no time getting away from him.

He waited for approximately five minutes before he went back inside.  He had actually needed a few breaths of fresh air himself.  Inside, he noticed that Larkin had folded her body into a chair and appeared to be listening raptly to Cody as he explained how the DOJ computers had been rigged to leave an electronic paper trail that would lead to Kira Grant.  This had been done a few weeks prior, but Cody had recorded dozens upon dozens of pieces of evidence, not to mention the personalized notes he knew nothing about.  Donovan had received three more, similar in content to the first sent after his night with Larkin.  It didn't matter, he was telling Paige because he couldn't pretend anymore.  The damage with Larkin had been done and she was right.  He should have done this weeks ago.  Sighing, he brought his mind back around to the job at hand, finally consenting to let Larkin nose around at the DOJ.  At least this way, her activities could be closely monitored and her life wouldn't be put unnecessarily at risk.  Before she took off, he wanted to say more to her, to talk to her alone one-on-one.  But again, he had blown his chance.  Regardless of that, he wouldn't hold out on this wedding façade another moment.

*  *  *

Grant and Paige sat together at break.  Grant immediately noticed how vacant Harrison's eyes were.  She seemed lost in a daze and had been that way for the past two weeks.  Grant wondered if Harrison knew something that Martel hadn't had the chance to tell her yet.  God she hated it when her surprises were ruined.  Grant had tried to ease her out of her blue funk to get some kind of confession from her, but it was no use.  Harrison wasn't giving over.  Instead, she absently played with her engagement ring and stared off into space.  Grant's feet were getting itchy.  It was nearly time for her to move and end the game.  The final notes were written; both of them were to be delivered directly to Paige Harrison.  Perhaps today was the day.  She would have to get them to Harrison before she left to go home.  If Martel intercepted them, Harrison would never know.  Her attention was drawn away from the dazed woman when she heard Harrison expel a breath.  Grant looked up and noticed that Harrison had fixed her eyes on a petite woman moving through the room as if she were looking for something or someone.  Grant realized she was the one that she saw with Martel a few weeks ago.  His distraction.  The way Harrison was acting, she seemed to know this woman as well.  What the fuck?  Did Harrison know something about this woman that she didn't?  It was definitely time to move.  

Larkin stopped and kneeled down as if she were picking up an object she had dropped.  She saw Grant sitting with Donovan's fiancée.  Grant had basically followed the same path that she had wanted to follow with Taryn Donovan.  The one thing that bothered her above all else was that instead of Grant looking at her, it was the fiancée.  It made her feel uncomfortable to say the least.  Had Grant spilled the beans yet?  Even if she did, how would either of them know it was she?  It rattled her a little, but she ignored it.  She simply wanted to get as close to Grant as possible without letting her know who she truly was.  As far as the bitch with the bad dye job knew, she was an internal DOJ employee, completely sedate and harmless.  She took her imaginary object and stuffed it into the pocket of her slacks before moving closer to the table.  She noticed that the fiancée was following her with her eyes, making it obvious that she was looking at her.  She didn't like this.  If Grant knew her, she would split as soon as she had the opportunity.  Yet, Grant wasn't as interested in her as Paige.  Had Donovan told her already?  Surely he wouldn't tell her anything that would point a straight finger, would he?  Although he was an asshole, he wasn't that callous.  She walked around to the exit, drawing nearer and nearer to the table.  Paige's eyes followed her, stunned.  Larkin moved on, uncomfortable and unsettled.  

Grant sat back and watched the weird exchange with interest.  Of course, she had seen Martel with this woman downstairs, and she began to wonder if Harrison had also seen the exchange.  Interesting.  Who was this woman?  Had she ever seen her working anywhere in the building?  She remembered crashing into the tiny bitch quite some time ago, but she hadn't seen her since.  Weird.  Then about two weeks ago, Martel and this woman were having some type of heated debate that made a nodding acquaintance to a lovers' quarrel.  If she were associated with Martel, wouldn't it mean that she was part of his elite bunko squad?  It wasn't possible.  She knew everything about that SOG team and nothing in her information indicated a fifth.  There was always the possibility of an outside agency, but who else would send her?  The woman disturbed her, of course, but didn't throw her off track.  Besides, Martel had had tons of access to this building through the years, and it was very possible that he had simply came upon a new face that suited him better than Harrison's.  Interesting.  It was worth checking out, but where to begin?

"Paige, do you know her?"

Paige snapped out of her daze and looked at the other woman.  "No.  I've seen her before, but I don't know her."  _I've seen her holding onto my fiancé.  She must be the reason he is less than enthused with this wedding_.

After their short break, Grant's curiosity had gotten the best of her.  She had to find this woman and see where she had come from.  Any connection to Martel, regardless of the type, wasn't good.  She walked the entire length of the third floor, but didn't see the woman anywhere.  She then went down to the first floor and did another sweep.  Grant thought that if she saw her once down here, she might see her, hopefully with Martel again.  While Grant was searching for Larkin, Larkin made her way toward the third floor offices.  She had a basic cover story in case Grant was in her office.  When she knocked and no answer came, she sighed with relief.  The bastard had called her correctly; she was no damn UC agent and had issues lying convincingly.  She grabbed the doorknob and turned it slowly.  Grant had left her machine open and running.  Checking behind her, she took to the computer chair and hit the space bar to clear the screen saver.  She brought up the mainframe screen and typed in a string of code and it blinked back at her.  With a smile, she shut it down.  Good.  Grant hadn't gotten wise to the trace.  She brought the computer back to whatever program Grant had called up and checked to make sure no one had seen her.  She slipped out of the office and began making her way down the corridor toward the stairwell.

"Can I help you," a voice called behind her.

Larkin froze in her steps.  It was the voice of Donovan's fiancée.  Slowly, she turned around to face the woman.  God.  She hoped Paige wouldn't be able to sense that she had slept with her fiancé.  Women were psychic like that.  "Uh no, I don't need any help.  I just got turned around for a minute, that's all."

Paige crossed her arms over her chest.  "I see," she said.  "You look familiar.  Do you know Frank Donovan?"

_Yeah, in more ways than one.  I'm sure you're aware he's ticklish in his abdominal area._  "Nope.  Sorry, I have never heard of him before.  If you'll excuse me, I need to get gone."  

_She just lied to you, Paige.  Perhaps it's time to dig around in the personnel files.  _Larkin didn't hang around a moment longer than necessary.  She took off and passed Grant in the hallway on her way out.  Grant watched her curiously and then turned to follow her back out.  By the time she caught up to the woman, Grant saw her jawing away on a cell phone.  This woman was not an employee, not here.  Notes tonight, trip out tomorrow.  There were too many players on the field for her comfort level.  

*  *  *

When Larkin returned to the nest, the only person she saw was Donovan.  _Great.  He did this on purpose, you know?  He knew exactly when you were coming back, so he conveniently got rid of everyone else.  Who the fuck does this asshole think he is?  _If she had known his true motivation for one second, she would have bypassed him and gone directly to the hotel.  _What are you doing here, Donovan?  I thought you were going to break off your engagement tonight.  Was that a lie, too?_  She said nothing to him, but she could feel his eyes upon her, following her about the room, as much as his fiancée before him.  What did he expect her to do?  Thank him?  This prick asshole had a good ten years on her, yet he was more insecure than she had ever been in her life, even as a fifteen-year-old college freshman.  For all his cock and bull, he didn't know which way was up.  Well, he could stand here until his arms and legs fell off from the wait.  She wasn't about to start anything with him now.  Fucker had hurt her in more ways than one and she wasn't about to let it happen again.  She spun around and headed toward the exit.  Did she honestly believe he wouldn't pursue her?  Did she?  He caught up to her fairly quickly and slammed his hand against the door, throwing his entire weight against it.  Although she looked absolutely ridiculous, she pulled with all the strength she possessed in her five foot three body.  She didn't move the door one centimeter.

"Let it go, you bastard," she said angrily.  "We've said all there is to say and I have no desire to listen to any more.  Haven't we had this discussion already?"

From behind her, he began to speak, his voice drifting softly down toward her.  "I can't make it up to you, Selena, but I never meant to do this to you.  You don't have to forgive me.  In fact, I don't want you to do that.  I'm sorry for dragging you into this bullshit going on in my private life.  I know it felt like it, but I didn't use you."

He didn't see it, but the determined little grimace came to her face.  It was something she did often when she wanted to get her way.  In fact, her brothers knew to back off when she did it.  She released her hold on the door, making Donovan think she had relented, but no way.  She lifted her arm just the slightest and brought her elbow smartly into his lower chest, connecting with a relatively tender spot on the human anatomy.  He immediately released his hold on the door and backed away.  She slipped out the door before he could rebound.  _You deserve it.  You deserve every bit of this_.  Tonight, he would hurt yet another woman, but he was more messed up about hurting Larkin than Paige.  He noticed it was after five.  It was time to go home and get this out and over with.  He was actually anxious to do this, to end this confusion for him and her.  The worse part was that she had wasted three years of her life on him.  Jesus.  Everything he touched _did_ turn to shit.

As soon as Donovan entered the apartment, he immediately noticed that Paige was seated on the couch.  It was as if she had expected him to come in early.  He wondered if she had some inkling of what was to come.  Yet, when he noticed the ring on her finger, that theory went out the window.  Caressing the back of his neck, he went into the kitchen and grabbed one of the straight back chairs.  He had no desire to sit beside her.  He wanted to speak to her face-to-face.  He dragged the chair toward her and moved the coffee table a few inches.  Donovan sat before her and sighed heavily.  

"Paige, there's something we need to talk about," he began.  She looked up at him and he saw something in her eyes, some small hint that what he had to say wouldn't be a startling surprise.  "It's about the wedding and…"

She interrupted him with a raised hand.  "And the woman you're fucking behind my back?  Don't deny it."

He shook his head.  "I don't intend to.  It's not working.  It hasn't been working for some time, but neither of us wanted to see it."

Donovan watched curiously as Paige dug something out from under the cushions of the couch.  He recognized the envelopes immediately.  Larkin had been right.  Grant got to Paige before he could tell her.  "These were waiting for me when I got home," she said.  "They were addressed to Paige Donovan.  One of them mentioned your fucking around with another woman.  Is she a short little blonde?  I saw you together, two weeks ago, and I saw her again today.  When I asked if she knew you, she lied."  She sighed.  "And this other, is it true, too?  This person is telling me you're someone else, that you nearly killed a woman twice.  If this first one is true, am I to assume the other is as well?"

"It's true.  All of it, every word."

She shook her head and laughed bitterly.  "Wonderful.  Every day we've been together has been one lie after another, hasn't it, Frank?  Or should I call you Chase?  No wonder you have issues about your family and obsessive/compulsive secrecy.  You kept me on a string for three years, three fucking years, and I can't believe it.  You let me go through with these wedding plans and I feel like a goddamn idiot.  How could you do this to me?  How could you lie?"  

Her words were followed by sobs that should have shaken him down to his very soul.  Instead, it irritated him and he found his hand going to the back of his neck again.  "I don't know what you expect me to say, because there are no words _to _say that would even touch it.  You have a tiny piece of the puzzle in your hands, you don't have enough to understand, and I can't say that you _should _understand.  We never should have moved in together, never should have gotten engaged."

"Well," she said as she wiped her tears away, "that problem is fixed perfectly isn't it?  I'll be out of here in twenty-four hours.  I would ask that you not stay here tonight so I can do this."

*  *  *

Larkin was curled up on her bed, not really doing anything other than staring at the floor.  God.  She needed to change rooms.  This one was too damn close to the horror eating away at her.  Well, she was exaggerating, of course, but she had had a queasy feeling in her gut for two weeks now, and she didn't want the bastard to ever look at her again.  A couple more days should do it up nicely.  She would go back to D.C. and open another case.  A soft knock on the door drew her away from her daydreaming.  She got off the bed and moved toward the door.  Donovan.  She should have known.  _Well, buster, I hope you brought a sleeping bag with you.  This door will not open until morning_.  

"Selena, I know you're in there," he called.  

"Good for you, babe.  I know you're out there," she said.  "What game do you want to play next?  Duck Duck Goose?"

"Goddamn it, Selena, if you'll give me twenty minutes, I'll leave you alone," he said, exasperated.

"Sorry, I'm doing my hair.  Come back…oh…half past never."

"I can wait out here for as long as it takes.  You can either let me in or I'll sleep right outside your door.  Twenty minutes, Larkin, it's all I want.  After that, I'll go away, and you won't have to deal with me."  He banged his fist against the door.  "Please, Selena.  I can knock a long time."

She walked away and jumped onto the big middle of her bed.  Let the bastard bang on the door until his knuckles bled.  She didn't give a fuck.  True to his word, every few minutes, he'd bang on her door several times, and then pause before doing it again.  She propped her arms behind her head and let him go at it.  Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty.  After an hour, the noises ceased.  Good.  He'd given up.  She took a deep breath and relaxed.  Just as her eyes closed, the banging started again.  Goddamn him.  Sighing angrily, she jumped off the bed, approached the door, and threw it open.

"You're nuts," she cried.  He said nothing.  He entered the room and sat on the foot of the bed.  _Creep_.  She moved to the table and sat down.  "What do you want?"

"I owe you an explanation, Selena," he said.

"Do you give explanations to all the women you fuck on the side," she said angrily.

He looked up at her and sighed heavily.  "Would you _listen_ to me?  What you said about Paige was true.  She was a comfort zone and I was with her mainly because I didn't know what else to do.  I didn't have to think about anything with her, she was a substitute for Taryn, and that was it.  It's like being inside a little box.  You become comfortable there and you don't want to step outside it because it's terrifying.  I was in a box with Paige.  It was comfortable and safe, I had nothing to worry about.  I could feel or pretend to feel, and it wouldn't matter.  With you, it was different.  I not only stepped outside that box, I crushed it.  You're nothing like Taryn, nothing like Paige, and nothing like anyone I know.  To feel again, to _truly_ feel, I'd have to stay out of that box forever and I didn't think I was ready."

Stunned, she sat silent and still.  She had never expected such a confession to leave his lips.  She had no idea, no idea at all.  While she sat in seeming shock, Donovan sighed and stood.  He told her what he needed to say and now it was time to leave.  He had gotten to the door and was about to let himself out.  It was Larkin's turn to go after him.

She reached out and took his hand from behind.  "Frank, wait.  Don't go."

Donovan stopped and turned slightly.  "There's more I must tell you," he said, "none of it is good."

"I…I don't want to hear it, not now," she said softly, a slight hint of a plea in her voice.

He touched her cheek.  "I won't make love to you before telling you at least one part of it.  It's over.  There will be no wedding, no further relationship with her.  I didn't mean it when I said our lovemaking was a mistake.  I never meant any of that."

She wanted to respond, to let him know she knew he meant none of it, but he didn't exactly give her enough time.  His lips met hers, gently at first, and then the kiss deepened when her lips parted against his.  When the kiss was broken, he carried her to the bed.  For the rest of the night, he made love to her, bringing his fantasy to life.

**____________________**

**To be continued…**    


	13. Settling Old Scores

SETTLING OLD SCORES

Donovan was in between the world of sleep and wakefulness.  He heard soft sounds around him, felt slight movements against him, and the almost undetectable jostling of the bed.  A moment later, he heard Larkin's voice whispering quietly over the phone before saying a hushed 'thank you.'  She slid back into bed, her body snuggling close against his back.  When he began to move, she scooted back, and gave him room to turn over.  Almost immediately, he began placing very light kisses on her forehead, eyelids, cheeks, and then her mouth.  She stopped him before it went too far.  Three times was more than enough for her [for the time being].

"Were you on the phone," he asked, his voice low and a little thick with sleep.

"Yeah," she said.  "Had to order food.  I'm starving."

He smiled a little.  "I think I've given you reason to be."

She buried her face into his throat and nipped his flesh.  "I think you did.  Aren't _you_ hungry?"

"Hmm."  His hand began a slow caress at the small of her back.  "Not for food."

"Jesus, Frank," she moaned against his neck, "will you at least let me replenish some calories first?"

"As long as it doesn't take more than fifteen minutes."  His hand moved over to her thigh and he brought her leg around him.  "You know…it might be a while before they bring the food."  

*  *  *

Larkin finished dressing while Donovan was in the shower.  She remembered him saying something about more information that was not so good.  She curled up in a chair at the table and grabbed the last piece of toast.  Damn it.  She felt like she could eat a horse.  She had never been hungrier in her life.  She took a drink of coffee and made a face.  Ugh.  It had gotten cold.  She brought her legs up against her body and waited patiently for Donovan to emerge from the bathroom.  He came out around ten minutes later fully dressed.  He had brought a change of clothes with him, explaining that he had planned to stay away from home at Paige's request.  Silently, he joined her at the small table, making a face when he noticed that she had snagged the last piece of toast.  He had been eyeing it for the last half hour.

He shrugged it off and put on his serious face.  The next forty-eight hours were likely to be quite tense.  "I didn't have an opportunity to tell Paige first.  She was sent two notes.  One was about us and the other had to do with my past.  I assume at this point her next target will be the team.  I'm not sure what Paige will do with that information, but now that Grant has moved on her, I figure it won't be long before she leaves."

She nodded.  "Yes."  She sighed.  "I'm sorry she got to you."

"Me too.  I'm not worried about Paige knowing.  The information doesn't serve a purpose to her.  However, if the team receives it, that will effectively destroy everything I've built up with them for the past three years.  If we can stop her, I want it done in two days, not to save my ass, but to protect theirs and yours."

*  *  *

Grant sat at her computer giggling like a happy child.  She discovered that Harrison had called in sick for the rest of the week.  The letters had found the proper home.  Very good.  If she needed further proof, she watched Martel leave the apartment building and drive over to the hotel where she had followed him before.  He was back with the little girlfriend.  When Grant thought of her, she immediately began to wonder if it would be necessary to send her a note.  He lost a fiancée; he might as well lose his fuck buddy.  Yet, the girl disturbed her, especially when she saw her speaking on a cell phone.  Sighing, she knew she had to do something to ease her mind.  She could easily access the guest list of the hotel.  If she checked those names against FBI and CIA records, she might discover if this woman was part of either agency.  If that were the case, she would catch the next flight out.  She closed her office door and locked it behind her.  She wanted no distractions.  She began her work quickly and silently, all the while the tracer clicked away, giving a direct path to the files she was searching.  It took approximately fifteen minutes of constant searching to narrow it down.  The hotel had a J.S. Larkin registered in Room 712.  Internal Affairs had an agent by the name of Selena Jane Larkin.  It was too close to be a coincidence.  Would she find a photograph?  If she could see the woman, she would know.  A click of the mouse and a keystroke brought her to what she needed.  DOJ employee, indeed.  Selena J. Larkin was an agent with the D.C. branch.  She was the one Martel was fucking around with.  _Very bad, Martel.  It's very bad form to fuck a fellow agent.  Didn't you learn that in training?  Conflict of interest and all that shit?  Bad, bad boy.  She doesn't seem your type.  Where are the big boobs?_

*  *  *

When Donovan and Larkin entered the nest, Cody was already at work on the computer.  Apparently, Grant was busy doing something at the DOJ.  The recording device attached to the computer was clicking away like crazy, spitting out codes and numbers, the like that Larkin had never seen.  It was computer language, of course, the language she couldn't decipher well, but perhaps Cody could chew it up.  Larkin leaned over Cody's shoulder, confused as hell.

"What's she doing," Larkin asked.

"Not sure yet," Cody said, "It'll take a couple minutes to get through this trash.  A lot of it is network noise.  Apparently, she's accessing dozens of files today, but I'm not sure which ones yet.  I've never seen her this active."

Larkin shook her head.  "I don't get it.  What else could she be looking for?"

"You got me," Cody said vaguely.  "Whatever it is, she's busier than hell."  

She stood up and glanced at Donovan.  He shook his head.  He didn't understand Grant any more than anyone else.  If she had all the information she needed about him, what else was there?  Larkin was impatient, she simply wanted to go to Grant and finish this.  The team could take custody of her and she'd handle the red tape.  The story would end and she could move on.  

Much later, Larkin had boosted herself onto the conference table as the computer continued to click away, but not as fast as before.  Grant must have slowed down with whatever project she had.  Cody was busily scouring through the language, one she would never learn.  She didn't feel well, hadn't felt well since yesterday.  Yesterday had been a gut-wrenching day and she was tired.  It had sunk into her bones like arthritis and it didn't want to release her.  Of course, it didn't help that she had gotten about three minutes of sleep last night.  She had never been so out of sorts, had never felt her stomach tied in so many knots.  It was as if she expected something horrible to happen at any moment.  If she didn't get out of here and get some sleep, she expected to fall right off the table and onto the hard floor.  Having a concussion on top of a stomachache wouldn't be good.  She jumped down off the table, her feet making a loud _CLOP_ as she did so.  

"I don't feel so great," she said, her hand caressing a spot just above her abdomen.  Jesus.  Did she have an ulcer or something?  "I need rest.  If you need me, you know where to find me."  Without another word, she took off, her shoes clopping right along.

"Wow, Boss, this is new," Cody began.  "She makes an announcement like that and you let her go without a word," he said with a grin.

"Mind your own business," Donovan barked.

Several minutes later, Larkin entered her hotel room and undressed.  She climbed under the fresh sheets and snuggled against the pillow.  She felt like utter hammered dogshit and hoped a short nap would improve it.  Within moments, she was asleep.  Just outside the hotel, Larkin had no idea that another person was lurking about, working out her game plan.  Grant had followed Larkin back and began checking out the buildings around her.  Hmm.  This deed would be difficult.  There weren't any buildings facing the room.  It wasn't an impossible hit, of course, but it would prove interesting.  Her hope at this point was to get the room on either side of Larkin and then go from there.  She would take care of the agent, but work it out where Martel could take the blame, including using the same exact weapon he favored.  He had plenty of motives.  The young woman had told his fiancée about their affair in a clandestine note.  Of course, he would become angered enough to blow her away.  Who wouldn't?  It was a nice plan in its perfection.  

Luck was with her.  Grant secured 714.  She would look around until she found an adjoining wall and then she'd set about her work.  It wasn't the first time she had set about a mission such as this and wasn't the first time she had ever killed.  She'd done her fair share of it, just as Martel had.  Of course, this would prove to be the first time she ever took out someone who was kinda/sorta one of her own.  She never considered the CIA facility as taking people out.  After all, that had been Martel's deal.  By mapping it out in her head alone, she figured the walls where the beds were had a connector, as well as the bathroom.  It would prove to be much easier for her to come at Larkin through the bathroom.  She wanted the job finished and complete before Martel came riding in on his white horse.  It wouldn't take long for Martel and his team to figure out the code.  Once they saw the information, they [or at least Martel] would know what time it was.  _Time to work_.

Impatiently, Donovan stood behind Cody and watched him pick apart pieces and pieces of computer jargon.  How in the hell anyone would ever know how to read this shit was beyond him.  However, Cody assured him that it would be deciphered and they could then see what Grant had been up to this morning.  Donovan was almost positive that it had something to do with making flight arrangements out of town.  After a few moments, Donovan moved away from Cody and began to pace back and forth.  A feeling had begun to sprout in the pit of his stomach and he didn't like it.  The only time he had clearly felt like this was right before a big take down.  Something didn't seem or feel right.  Vaguely, he found himself wishing he hadn't let Larkin go back to the hotel.  He had tried phoning her a couple of times, but the front desk had said her phone was busy.  Either she was having one fuck of a conversation or she had taken the phone off the hook.  Irritated now, he was half tempted to go to the hotel to bring her ass back to the nest.  At least here, he could keep his eye on her.  _As if she needs you to do that.  Jesus, Donovan, get a fucking grip.  We're not talking about Paige here_.  

"Boss, how weird is this Grant chick?  I don't get it.  This looks like some kind of guest list," Cody said.

Donovan stopped pacing and became very interested.  "Guest list?  Look at the names.  Tell me if you see Selena's."

He moved his finger along the list.  "J.S. Larkin?"

"Damn it," Donovan bit out.  "Grant knows about Selena."

*  *  *

Larkin stretched and moaned just a little.  She opened one eye and glanced at the bedside clock.  She had only been asleep for about an hour, but it had been a damn good hour's worth.  She vaguely wondered if Donovan and the rest of the crew were still at the nest.  If she could just drag her ass out of bed, she might go back down and check it out.  Sighing, she climbed out of bed and stretched.  Larkin went over to the low dresser and dug out a fresh change of clothes.  She wanted to shower, but didn't feel as if she had time.  Larkin dressed quickly and didn't think to put her phone back on the hook.  She entered the bathroom to wash her face and she heard a weird sound:  _fwoop_.  What the hell?  She shook her head and went on with what she was doing.  The sound came again and Larkin turned quickly.  The bed had shaken just slightly.  Thinking quickly, she boosted her body up onto the counter and listened as more 'fwoop' sounds issued forth.  Goddamn.  Someone was shooting at her, but from where?  Before she had a chance to move, she heard a hard, rattling knock at the door.  A few seconds later, Donovan literally bellowed her name.  Before she called out to him, she looked down and saw something curious.  There was a slit in the wall that she had never noticed before.  Jesus Christ.  Fucking Kira Grant wanted her dead.

"_Go next door_," Larkin yelled.  "_Don't worry about me now.  Go_!"

From the room next to hers, she heard the shuffling of feet and the barked commands leaving Donovan's mouth.  Quickly, while she still had a chance, she jumped off the counter and dove for her weapon and shackles.  Larkin was slightly oblivious to the noise in the hall.  Apparently, the stupid Grant bitch was trying to escape through the high-rise window.  She tore out of the room and noticed that Donovan was trying desperately to kick the door down.  _Idiot.  _It would take him forever to get through that door.  Larkin had started for the phone in her room before the door suddenly came open, connecting with Donovan's foot and sending him sprawling.  Larkin growled in frustration.  _Goddamn testosterone_.  Grant flew out the door in a tired looking black leather suit.  Larkin took off after her, bare feet and all.  Donovan rebounded quickly and gave chase as well.  Before Grant reached the exit door for the stairs, Larkin flew at her, taking hold of her legs and knocking her down.  

"_Get off me, you bitch_," Grant roared, kicking out at Larkin, her foot connecting with her stomach.

When Larkin fell back, her wind knocked out of her, Donovan was the next to arrive.  He threw every ounce of his weight onto Kira Grant's body.  One hand had grabbed the back of her top and the other had taken a handful of her hair.  A moment later, he planted his knee firmly between her shoulders and began to press down with everything he had in him.  Grant's cheek was squashed against the carpeted floor and she spat and hissed like a dragon.  He reached for the back of her collar and his hand began twisting the fabric taut against her throat.  By that time, Larkin recovered and could breathe a little easier.  If she didn't get Donovan off her, he would snap her neck within seconds.  Jake and Alex caught up to the group and they, too, began to get into the struggle to remove Donovan bodily.  He wasn't listening to anyone, not to his team, to Larkin, or his mind.  F. Chase Martel had come back full force and with a vengeance.  Grant would die either by strangulation or a broken neck.  He didn't rightfully give a fuck which way it was, but he would ensure it was done one way or another.  The bitch's games were over and they were over for good.  Grant's face was turning an alarming dark color and she had begun to choke.  With his body so firmly settled, it was difficult moving him.  He had shut his hearing off.  These people around him were trying desperately to reach him, but they wouldn't touch him again until the bitch drew her last breath.  After that, life could go on.  

Larkin was literally on her knees, just a few inches above Donovan's ear.  She had been screaming at him, but nothing was getting through.  If he killed her, the repercussions would be swift and brutal.  She took hold of his forearm and clamped her hand tightly around it.  "Frank, let it go.  Dead, she means nothing to us.  Alive, she will suffer and be punished for her deeds.  If you kill her, she wins.  She wins."  Would he even listen to that?  She had begun to think he didn't care and he probably didn't.  Although she'd hate herself later, there was only one other way to get through to him.  Perhaps his team wouldn't ask questions later.  She sighed, "_Martel_," she cried through gritted teeth, "If you leave her alive, she will pay for everything she's done every day for the rest of her life.  If she dies, this black mark will be the _final_ one for you.  You have come too far for this.  You're not a killer, Martel, you're not a killer."

Little by little, his grip loosened and the beet red color had begun to fade from Grant's face.  However, he didn't let up on the pressure with his knee.  "Give me your cuffs, Larkin," he demanded in a low, severe voice.  "Give them to me now before I change my mind."

Sighing heavily, she handed over her cuffs and leaned back.  Larkin couldn't quite decipher the look on his face.  She hadn't wanted to resort to calling him Martel, but there was no other way to get to him.  If he hadn't let up, Grant would have died within moments.  She wanted to say she was sorry, but now was not the time.  He wasn't exactly people friendly.  After a long moment, he made eye contact with her and his gaze was less than kind.  _It's over, Donovan_, she thought.  _It's all over.  Can't you see that?_

*  *  *

It was past two in the morning before Larkin finally made it back to the hotel.  After a completely wild chase and stressful afternoon, Grant was secured and in high security lock down.  By morning, she would be transported to D.C.  Larkin's own flight out was scheduled for later that afternoon.  She hadn't spoken to Donovan since the scene in the hallway.  She had shattered a trust, she knew that specifically, and he would never forgive her, but what else could she do?  He wasn't listening and she had had to shake him.  _It doesn't matter.  You're leaving anyway_.  Yet, she hadn't wanted to leave on such a negative note.  _I'm sorry, Donovan_.  She moved around the room and headed toward the bathroom.  If she didn't shower, she would never be relaxed enough to go to sleep.  A soft knock sounded off and she had begun to associate that with Donovan.  God.  She hoped it was he so she could have a chance to apologize before she left Chicago.  When she went to the door and peeked out, she sighed in relief.

Larkin opened the door and stepped back so he could enter.  She turned to face him and noticed that he had made himself comfortable on the foot of her bed.  She didn't move any closer to him because there was something she had to say.  "I'm sorry I had to resort to that tactic today.  I hope it didn't cause any problems with your team."

He looked up at her and shook his head.  "It didn't.  I'm not sure they noticed and if they did, they won't ask.  I want to thank you for doing that.  If you hadn't, I'd have messed up pretty badly."

"It's over," she said softly, "She's gone and will stay gone for a pretty damn long while, long enough for her to forget you exist."

"It won't _truly_ be over, not ever.  The memories are in here," he said, pointing to his head, "and here," pointing to his heart.  "The files are also there, hidden, but still vulnerable."  She had begun to respond, but stopped when he spoke up before her.  "You're leaving tomorrow?"

She nodded.  "Yeah.  I'm finally out of your hair," she said with a little smile.

He matched her smile.  "True, but I'm not totally happy about that," he said.  

Larkin approached him and ran her hand along his cheek.  "Could you stay?"

"Only if you want me to," he said.

Unceremoniously, she straddled his lap and ran her tongue along his lips.  "I do."

*  *  *

Winter 2003 

Donovan entered the nest around midnight and flicked on the lights.  He had given the team a couple of breather days before the next case drifted in.  He sighed a little and found his hand going immediately to the nape of his neck.  He had wanted to accompany Larkin to the airport, but she refused.  He wasn't exactly happy with that decision, but he honored her request.  If she had hung around for any length of time, he was certain that something very significant would have happened between them.  Yet, apparently that wasn't quite meant to be.  She had to return to D.C. and his life was here.  Before he came to the nest, he had stopped by the apartment and saw that Paige had stripped out every vestige of her presence.  She had left the engagement ring sitting atop the kitchen counter with a nasty little note:  _Pawn it, why don't you?_  Sighing heavily, he moved into the depths of the room and headed toward his office, but he stopped when he spied something peculiar on one of Cody's laptop computers.  It was a scrap of paper taped to the screen.  Written on the note was:  _For you.  Hit any key.  SJL.  _He took the note down and tapped a key at random.  The screen came up and he saw his personal file.  It was one that had had details of his former life, his misdeeds, and other little negative comings and goings.  However, there was nothing there but items relevant to Frank Donovan.  It seemed as if there had never been a Franklin Chase Martel.  She had somehow erased it all.  With a touched sigh, he turned off the computer and made his way upstairs.  

Once at his desk, he dug out a piece of notepaper and unfolded it, flattening it out on his desk.  He picked up the phone and quickly dialed a number.  When it was answered, he asked, "Can I see you?"

**____________________**

**FINIS…**    


End file.
